Of  CALIF.  1IBR1FY,  WS 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER 


BY 

ELIZABETH  FRAZER 


COPYRIGHT,  ig2i. 
THE  CURTIS  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

COPYRIGHT,  1922. 

BY 

HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 


PRINTED    IN    THE    U.   8.  A.  BY 

»bt  gniiui  A  gobtn  Company 

BOOK      MANUFACTURERS 
RAHWAV  NEW    JERSEY 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

CHAPTER  ONE 

KLAGGETT  KING,  like  Pilate's  wife,  was  troubled 
by  a  dream. 

That  was  the  only  point  of  resemblance  between 
him  and  the  noble  Roman  lady,  who  was  concerned 
about  a  certain  just  man;  whereas  Klaggett  King 
concerned  himself,  neither  sleeping  nor  waking, 
about  just  men.  He  let  just  men  look  after  them- 
selves, and  he  did  exclusively  the  same.  Klaggett 
King's  dream  was  a  recurrent  dream.  Like  the 
fabled  flying  Dutchman,  or  the  phantom  headless 
horseman,  at  certain  periods  in  his  life,  it  appeared 
athwart  the  horizon  of  his  slumbering  conscious- 
ness, and  each  time  it  marked  a  milestone  in  his 
career,  and  was  the  invariable  precursor  of  a  busi- 
ness success. 

Always  the  dream  was  the  same  in  substance, 
3 


2129520 


4  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

It  was  a  struggle — a  struggle  in  the  dark  between 
himself  and  another  whom,  in  his  dream,  King 
hated  with  a  wild,  violent  hatred,  accompanied  by 
a  hunger  to  kill.  Whenever  Klaggett  King  dreamed 
that  particular  dream,  he  rose  up  the  next  morning 
and  went  about  his  affairs  with  a  warm  glow  of 
satisfaction  around  his  heart,  for  he  knew  that  the 
stars  in  their  courses,  or  mysterious  destiny,  or  the 
subliminal  will,  or  angels,  or  devils,  or  the  ouija 
board,  or  whatever  one  likes  to  call  it,  were  fight- 
ing on  his  side,  and  he  was  bound  to  win.  And  it 
was  so.  Success  followed  the  wake  of  this  dream 
as  its  blazing  tail  follows  the  wake  of  a  comet 
through  the  night  sky. 

King  could  not,  by  a  mere  act  of  will,  summon 
this  dream,  with  its  attendant  success,  out  of  the 
vasty  deeps  of  its  hidden  lair — though,  after  he  dis- 
covered it  was  the  precursor  of  good  fortune,  he 
tried.  He  tried  very  hard.  Who  would  not?  He 
tried  Peter  Ibbetson's  method  of  lying  with  his  left 
foot  crossed  over  his  right — confoundedly  awk- 
ward ! — and  his  arms  encircling  his  head.  He  tried 
retiring  without  dinner;  with  a  light  dinner;  with 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  5 

a  heavy  dinner;  he  tried  thinking  earnestly  of  the 
dream  just  before  he  slept;  and  he  tried  not  think- 
ing of  anything  at  all — carefully  sponging  out  all 
the  stray  wisps  and  tails  of  thought,  and  rendering 
his  consciousness  a  dimly  drifting  grey  impression- 
able blank.  But  never  by  means  of  these  forced 
and  artificial  devices  did  he  ever  once  find  himself 
upon  the  right  road  of  his  dream.  It  seemed  to 
have  its  own  profoundly  secret  times  and  seasons, 
and  came  and  went  at  will. 

It  did  not  appear  in  every  important  transaction 
of  his  life,  nor,  so  he  discovered,  was  its  non- 
appearance  necessarily  a  guarantee  of  failure.  On 
the  contrary,  in  checking  up  his  eventful,  and, 
taking  it  all  in  all,  rather  distinguished  career  in 
the  financial  life  of  New  York,  Klaggett  King 
could  put  his  finger  on  several  devilish  tight  corners 
he  had  been  in,  fighting  heavy  odds,  with  his  back 
to  the  wall,  when  he  would  have  ardently  welcomed 
that  little  dream-harbinger.  But  had  it  come?  It 
had  not.  It  had  stuck  stubbornly  down  in  its  hole, 
away  over  the  dim  back  of  beyond,  outside  the  rim 
of  his  consciousness,  leaving  King  to  fight  his  battle 


6  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

as  best  he  might.  And  he  had  fought — and  won. 
Whereupon,  had  it  been  possible,  he  would  have  fired 
the  dream.  But  he  could  neither  fire  it  nor  hire 
it — nor  could  he  leave  it  alone.  It  was,  altogether, 
an  irritating  puzzle,  without  apparent  rhyme  or  rule 
— and  that,  for  Klaggett  King,  was  its  chiefest 
attraction. 

There  was  another  permanent  characteristic 
about  the  dream,  aside  from  its  arrogant  inde- 
pendence in  the  matter  of  its  entrances  and  exits; 
and  that  was,  that  like  all  silly  old  wives'  tales,  it 
followed  the  law  of  contraries.  For  although  it 
invariably  signalised  success,  nevertheless,  in  the 
actual  dream  itself,  Klaggett  King  was  always  the 
defeated  party.  His  enemy  escaped. 

In  his  dream  King  would  come  upon  the  other 
fellow — come  upon  him  sharply,  suddenly,  with  in- 
stant recognition,  with  a  violent  sense  of  joy,  a 
kind  of  stark  rapture  of  dark  passion  common  to 
dreams,  which  lifted  him  quite  out  of  himself.  And 
then,  in  his  dream,  he  would  dash  headlong  after 
his  enemy,  who  always  eluded  him.  Reflecting 
upon  this,  King  used  to  wonder  impatiently  why 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  7 

the  devil  he  did  not  in  his  dream  carry  a  gun  or 
a  knife.  Why,  with  that  enemy  lurking  about,  was 
he  always  caught  weaponless?  Or  why,  even  if  he 
were  weaponless,  did  he  not  catch  up  something,  a 
rock  or  a  club,  with  which  to  assault  his  foe?  His 
dream-double,  it  would  appear,  was  an  over- 
sanguine,  aggressive,  reckless  fool.  If  it  were  really 
Klaggett  King — and  King  could  not  doubt  that  it 
was;  the  sense  of  identity  with  his  dream-self  was 
altogether  too  powerful  and  poignant  to  deny — • 
why  did  not  that  dream-self  make  use  of  King's 
caution,  King's  big,  scheming,  strategic  brain  to 
obtain  its  ends?  Why  did  it  rush  headlong,  un- 
armed, to  the  encounter,  with  only  that  terrible, 
joyous  resolve  to  kill  thrilling  its  heart? 

This  foolish,  melodramatic  quality  of  the  dream 
irritated  King  particularly.  He  was,  to  tell  the 
truth,  ashamed  of  it,  and  never  alluded  to  it,  even 
among  his  closest  friends.  This  was  in  the  begin- 
ning of  his  career,  before  he  climbed  into  power. 

Later,  as  his  success  and  his  personality  grew, 
he  altered  his  point  of  view.  He  ceased  being 
ashamed  of  his  fool  dream.  Klaggett  King  did  not 


8  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

underestimate  himself.  He  saw  no  reason  why  he 
should.  Had  he  been  another  business  man  who 
had  come  to  him  to  negotiate  a  loan  on  the  banks 
to  enlarge  his  plant,  King  knew  very  well  what  kind 
of  a  report  he  would  have  submitted  to  the  banks. 
He  would  have  indorsed  Klaggett  King  up  to  the 
hilt  as  a  strong  man,  a  safe  and  sane  man,  with  a 
brain  and  a  will  that  would  get  him  anywhere. 
He  would  have  recommended  the  loan.  And  in  a 
private  memorandum,  he  would  have  advised  the 
bankers  who  were  floating  the  loan  to  acquire  as 
large  a  block  of  stock  as  they  could  make  King 
give  up. 

That  was  the  kind  of  report  he  would  have  sent 
in,  had  Klaggett  King  been  another  man  whom  he 
was  asked  to  report  on  in  his  official  capacity  as 
financial  expert.  And  he  did  not  see  why  he  should 
not  take  his  own  expert  opinion  on  himself,  seeing 
that  opinion  was  the  best  and  most  reliable  of  its 
kind  in  New  York.  Banks  advanced  money  on  it, 
up  into  the  millions.  Private  corporations  and 
firms,  seeking  eastern  capital  to  enlarge  their  plants, 
paid  him  thousands  of  dollars  for  his  opinion. 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  9 

There  was,  therefore,  no  legitimate  reason  why  he 
should  not  take  it  himself.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
he  did.  And  his  estimate  of  himself  was,  in  brief, 
that  he  was  one  of  earth's  conquerors.  This  was 
not  vanity.  Any  banker  in  New  York  would  have 
indorsed  that  point  of  view.  The  latter  might  have 
added,  that  of  course  Mr.  King  was  a  self-made 
man,  with  a  self-made  man's  defects.  He  was 
arrogant  of  manner,  caustic  of  tongue,  and  obsti- 
nate to  a  degree.  But  powerful  beyond  a  doubt. 
If  you  questioned  that,  you  had  only  to  look  him 
up  in  Who's  Who,  and  mark  the  number  of  im- 
portant directorates  he  held  in  the  biggest  financial 
enterprises  of  the  day. 

With  this  perfectly  justifiable  opinion  of  himself 
as  one  of  the  conquerors,  Klaggett  King  began, 
little  by  little,  to  take  stock  in  his  dream.  Not 
much.  Not  enough  to  trouble  his  conscience  or 
spoil  his  business  nerve.  But  a  little.  Enough  to 
amuse  him,  when,  unable  to  sleep — for  that,  in  later 
years,  was  his  trouble — he  spent  the  leaden-footed 
night  hours  which  paced,  slow  as  a  chain-gang,  turn- 
ing and  twisting  upon  his  pillow.  To  ponder  sar- 


io  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

donically  upon  a  good-for-nothing  fool  dream  was 
at  least  as  intelligent  a  means  to  court  slumber — 
and  perhaps  even  the  dream  itself — as  to  count 
imaginary  sheep  jumping  through  an  imaginary 
hole  in  an  imaginary  fence. 

Starting  from  nothing,  Klaggett  King  had  created 
for  himself  a  significant  position  in  the  financial 
world.  His  business,  in  its  early  stages,  was  unique. 
He  had  formulated  it  out  of  his  own  head  to  meet 
the  need  of  the  times.  Later,  other  firms  sprang 
up,  catering  to  the  same  need.  But  for  years 
Klaggett  King  stood  head  and  shoulders  above  all 
other  competitors  in  thoroughness  and  reliability. 

"  What  does  Klaggett  King  have  to  say  about 
this  proposition  ?  "  was  a  common  question  in  finan- 
cial conferences,  when  application  was  made  for  a 
loan  by  a  new  or  hitherto  unknown  firm.  If  King 
reported  favourably  upon  the  applicant,  he  could 
buy  credit  almost  anywhere.  His  big,  scrawling,  un- 
couth signature  signed  at  the  foot  of  the  financial 
report  was  enough.  But  if  he  reported  unfavour- 
ably— and  King  was  flat-footed  in  decision;  he 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  11. 

came  out  with  a  straight  yes,  or  a  straight  no — the 
unfortunate  applicant  might  as  well  buy  his  ticket 
home.  No  reputable  banking-house  would  lend  him 
a  dime. 

The  method  by  which  he  made  his  name  power- 
ful was  characteristic  of  the  man.  First  of  all,  he 
selected  his  experts  for  their  sound  common  sense 
and  breadth  of  view,  as  well  as  for  their  technical 
excellence.  When  they  were  on  a  "  case,"  these 
experts  departed  singly  and  without  knowledge  of 
each  other  to  the  scene  of  their  labours,  investi- 
gated the  client,  returned,  and  rendered  a  verbal 
and  a  written  report. 

These  reports  Klaggett  King  was  wont  to  receive 
in  his  private  office,  one  after  another,  on  the  same 
day,  in  order,  as  he  said,  to  obtain  a  bird's  eye  view 
of  the  entire  situation  at  once.  And  so  practised 
had  he  become  by  dint  of  long  discipline  and  in- 
tense concentration  to  the  matter  in  hand,  that 
often  he  was  ready  with  his  own  final  report  before 
the  last  expert  had  left  the  room. 

But  this  sureness  came  only  with  years.  In  the 
beginning  he  did  not  trust  his  reputation  to  intui- 


12  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

tion  or  chance.  Sometimes,  of  course,  the  case  was 
smooth  sailing  from  the  start.  But  sometimes  it 
was  so  complicated,  with  the  elements  of  failure 
and  success  so  evenly  tied,  that  it  took  him  days  to 
decide.  And  when  this  occurred,  with  the  complete 
data  in  his  portfolio,  he  would  go  home,  lock  him- 
self in  his  room,  and  there  remain,  without  sleep, 
diving  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  reservoirs  of  his 
reserve  strength,  and  coming  out  on  the  other  side 
of  his  first  fatigue  with  a  magnificent  second  wind 
of  intelligence  and  power  that  never  seemed  to  tire. 
Arrived  at  that  point,  his  brain  functioned  with  a 
kind  of  clean-cut  beautiful  precision  like  a  well- 
adjusted,  well-oiled  machine. 

There  was  a  delight  in  this  intense  absorption  of 
all  his  faculties  that  exhilarated  him  like  wine. 
Once  he  had  fought  past  the  outposts  of  normal 
fatigue,  into  that  inner  citadel  of  radiant  strength, 
he  had  a  feeling  as  if  he  were  a  god,  omniscient, 
absolute. 

About  this  time  he  began  to  complain  to  his  wife, 
Lucinda,  of  insomnia.  At  breakfast,  one  morning, 
he  confessed  to  a  sleepless  night. 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  fi3 

"  Well,"  said  Lucinda,  smiling  her  Lucinda-smile 
which  had  made  Klaggett  King  marry  her,  "if  you 
will  be  foolish  about  staying  up  that  way,  what  can 
you  expect?  " 

"It's  the  fight  which  attracts  me.  It  gives  me 
such  a  sense  of  power.  I  don't  believe  I  could  make 
a  mistake  to  save  my  neck  after  I've  fought  through 
to  my  second  wind." 

"You'll  make  one  if  you  keep  on  trying  to  go 
without  sleep.  I've  about  decided  you  are  a  silly 
man.  It's  not  intelligent  to  kill  yourself  by  inches 
like  that." 

"  My  business  demands  it,"  said  King.  "  And, 
besides,  if  I  don't  sleep,  I  make  the  other  fellow 
pay  for  it.  I  put  it  in  the  bill." 

"  That's  sillier  still,"  said  Lucinda.  "  For  money 
won't  buy  sleep." 

Whereupon  King  kissed  her  to  stop  her  criticism 
— he  had  not  married  her  for  that,  and  he  would 
not  take  it,  even  from  Lucinda — and  went  on  just 
as  before.  But  he  began  to  be  troubled.  Hitherto, 
he  had  boasted  of  his  power  to  do  without  sleep. 
Now  the  darker  side  of  that  power  began  to  make 


14  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

itself  manifest,  like  the  faint  shadowy  circle  about 
the  new  crescent  moon.  He  could  not,  it  appeared, 
force  himself  to  stay  awake  when  he  wanted  to 
without  paying  for  it  by  staying  awake  when  he 
did  not  want  to.  Klaggett  King  was  too  keen  a 
merchant  of  values  not  to  perceive  a  certain  grim 
balance  in  this.  He  was  robbing  Peter  to  pay 
Paul,  and  Peter  was  beginning  to  show  a  deficit. 


CHAPTER  TWO 

DURING  this  first,  or  building  stage  of  his  suc- 
cess— a  success,  which  in  its  spectacular  height,  re- 
sembled the  skyscrapers  of  New  York  to  which  it 
was  spiritually  akin — King  had  been  content  to 
demand  a  handsome  commission  for  his  services, 
reserving  the  option,  if  he  saw  fit,  to  buy  a  block 
of  stock  in  the  enterprise  he  thus  supported  with 
his  name.  So  far,  he  had  been  an  honest  server 
of  industry,  and  he  liked  to  think  of  himself  as  the 
liaison  officer  between  high  finance  and  the  in- 
numerable worthy  business  enterprises  throughout 
the  land  which  needed  money  to  develop  them  to 
their  full  power. 

By  this  time  he  had  become  an  arresting  per- 
sonality, even  in  New  York,  and  was  swimming 
with  the  best  of  them,  with  a  box  full  of  notabili- 
ties at  the  opera — which  he  hated  and  called  the 
whoopera — and  welcoming  foreign  celebrities  when 

is 


16  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

they  came  down  to  the  financial  district,  showing 
them  the  Woolworth  Building  and  the  Stock  Ex- 
change, and  afterward  lunching  them  at  the  Bank- 
ers' Club,  while  they  pumped  him  discreetly  as  to 
what  he  thought  of  the  prospects  of  their  floating 
another  loan. 

Cartoons  of  his  tall  gaunt  figure,  spare  to  cadaver- 
ousness,  with  the  jutting  jaw,  the  caustic,  sensitive 
mouth,  the  powerful  nose  which  advertised  that  he 
was  not  only  a  leader  of  men  but  a  follower  of 
women,  and  the  steady  dark  eyes  lit  by  fires  of 
malice,  began  to  figure  in  the  newspapers.  King's 
eyes  were  his  best  assets,  both  with  men  and  with 
women.  Women  pitied  him  when  he  quietly  turned 
on  them  those  great,  dark  magnetic  eyes,  encircled 
by  hollows,  and  often  burning  in  their  deep  caverns 
with  fires,  the  true  nature  of  which  sentimental 
ladies  were  prone  to  mistake.  They  concluded  he 
must  be  unhappily  married  with  Lucinda,  and  one 
or  two  of  them  threw  their  hats  into  the  ring. 

Men  liked  him  too,  though  they  said  he  had  the 
cheek  of  the  devil  unbreeched.  And  when  he 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  17 

talked,  fixing  his  companion  with  those  deep  burn- 
ing eyes  which  seemed  to  dilate  and  gather  fire  as 
he  went  on,  enforcing  his  points  by  a  brusque 
chopping  gesture  of  one  bony  upraised  hand — very 
effective — other  men  in  the  company  would  stop 
talking,  and  gather  around  him  in  a  close  knot.  It 
was  impossible  not  to  believe  him  when  within 
reach  of  those  steady  compelling  eyes. 

For  a  man  whose  father  had  been  a  country 
blacksmith,  who  had  never  been  to  college,  who  had 
never  seen  the  inside  of  a  theatre  until  he  was 
eighteen,  who  had  never  worn  evening  clothes  until 
he  began  to  court  Lucinda,  Klaggett  King  had  gone 
fast  and  rather  far.  He  used  to  tell  Lucinda  to 
stick  close  behind  him  and  keep  hold  of  his  coat- 
tails,  for  he  intended  to  go  farther  still  before  he 
was  through. 

It  was  Lucinda  who  had  been  his  spring-board 
of  opportunity,  as  a  woman  often  is.  The  daughter 
of  Adam  Brewster — a  solid,  rich,  respectable 
woollen  manufacturer  of  the  old  school — Lucinda 
had  studied  the  violin  three  years  in  Paris,  after 


i8  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

which  she  had  returned  to  her  father's  country- 
place  on  the  Hudson,  where  she  met  Klaggett  King, 
who  inside  of  six  months  had  married  her — though 
there  is  no  doubt  Lucinda  had  something  to  do  with 
that  too. 

Lucinda  always  declared  it  was  the  story  of  the 
house  without  a  staircase  which  had  won  her.  At 
that  time  King,  then  a  struggling  young  contractor, 
was  building  a  house  for  a  rich  and  avaricious 
widow,  who  niggled  and  naggled  over  every  penny 
of  expenditure,  and  tried  to  beat  the  young  man  at 
every  turn  of  the  game.  In  particular,  she  tried 
to  beat  King  into  giving  her  more  floor-space,  with- 
out paying  therefor.  On  the  plans,  she  pushed  out 
one  partition  after  another,  striving  to  make  her 
rooms  larger  and  yet  pay  no  more  for  her  house. 

"  But,  madam,"  explained  the  young  contractor 
impatiently,  "  can't  you  see  that  if  your  entire 
floor-space  remains  fixed,  you  can't  enlarge  one 
chamber  save  at  the  expense  of  another?  And  your 
floor-space  is  a  question  of  initial  expense." 

"  Oh,  dear ! "   fumed  the  widow.     "I  did  want 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  19 

this  front  bedroom  a  decent  size.  Can't  you  just 
move  back  that  partition  four  feet  ?  " 

Klaggett  King  frowned. 

"  Yes ! "  said  he  suddenly,  fixing  his  sardonic 
black  eyes  on  the  plans. 

"And  that  won't  affect  the  size  of  the  rear 
room  ?  " 

"  No." 

"You're  sure?" 

"  Sure  as  that  God  made  fools." 

But  she  was  suspicious,  and  she  made  him  swear 
to  it  before  witnesses.  After  which,  he  went  on 
with  the  contract.  The  widow  went  south  on  a 
visit  and  when  she  returned  the  house  was  done. 
Klaggett  King  himself  drove  her  out  from  the  sta- 
tion in  a  hired  livery-rig — which  he  could  ill  afford 
— to  inspect  the  house  he  had  built  for  her.  The 
widow  was  delighted  with  the  exterior.  She  wanted 
to  go  inside.  A  few  labourers  were  still  on  the 
ground,  and  they  watched  the  couple  with  a  broad 
grin.  Klaggett  King  stalked  about  as  stiff  and  dour 
as  a  hangman. 


20  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

Finally  the  widow  said:  "The  downstairs  is 
charming.  I  congratulate  you.  Now  let's  go  up- 
stairs." 

Upon  which,  Klaggett  King  permitted  himself  his 
first  smile. 

"  After  you,  madam !  "  he  grinned.  "  I  have  no 
wings." 

Neither,  it  appeared,  had  the  avaricious  widow 
any  pinions,  and  without  them  she  could  not  get 
into  the  second  story.  For  she  had  telescoped  her 
staircase  in  order  to  enlarge  her  bedrooms,  and  she 
had  made  Klaggett  King  swear,  before  witnesses, 
to  build  it  after  that  plan.  Of  course  she  sued  him. 
And  of  course  Klaggett  King  won. 

The  story  of  the  house  without  a  staircase  went 
rolling  humorously  all  over  the  countryside,  and 
eventually  came  to  the  ears  of  Lucinda,  who,  hav- 
ing a  keen  sense  of  the  comic,  teased  her  father 
to  entice  the  young  humourist  around  to  dinner 
some  night. 

King  came,  watched  Lucinda  all  through  dinner 
out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye;  decided  she  was  the 
nicest  thing  he  had  ever  seen;  decided  that  just  to 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  21 

be  around  her  was  a  liberal  education;  decided  to 
give  himself  that  liberal  education  as  fast  as  he 
decently  could.  All  of  which  he  did,  without  hesi- 
tation, indirection,  or  beating  about  the  bush. 

And  Lucinda  took  him.  When  her  father  expos- 
tulated with  her,  and  asked  her  what  on  earth  she 
saw  in  this  scraggy  young  mountebank  with  the 
wild  eyes,  Lucinda  replied,  laughing  with  pretty 
confusion,  that  other  men  only  said  funny  things, 
but  Klaggett  King  did  them.  She  added  that  she 
was  sure  she  would  get  more  fun  out  of  him  than 
out  of  her  violin. 

Her  father  retorted  that  Klaggett  King  would 
make  her  laugh  on  the  other  side  of  her  mouth  be- 
fore they  were  married  six  months — or  he  was  no 
judge  of  men.  But  Lucinda  took  him  just  the 
same.  Brewster  died  within  the  year,  and  with  his 
money  which  went  to  Lucinda,  King  got  his  first 
start.  And  King  knew,  the  week  before  his  father- 
in-law  died,  that  things  were  drifting  his  way,  for 
again  he  had  dreamed  his  fool  dream. 


CHAPTER  THREE 

As  King's  business  flourished,  he  built,  in  his 
fiftieth  year,  a  great  turreted  granite  mansion  just 
off  Fifth  Avenue,  in  the  East  Seventies,  and  a 
famous  firm  of  decorators,  after  a  discreet  study 
of  his  temperament  and  his  bank-account,  furnished 
it  in  the  Florentine  fashion  in  the  period  of  Lorenzo 
the  Magnificent,  with  heavy  dark  old  carvings,  the 
walls  hung  with  huge  mirrors,  gorgeous  crimson 
velvets  and  dim  old  brocades,  most  of  them  museum 
pieces. 

There  was  about  it  an  air  of  sombre  splendour, 
relieved  by  patches  of  vivid,  passionate  colour  which 
consorted  well  with  King's  character.  But  he  com- 
plained that  it  was  sunless,  as  dank  as  a  vault,  and 
there  was  not  a  chair  fit  to  sit  in  outside  of  his  < 
library.  His  library,  a  beautiful  octagonal  room, 
with  a  carved  oak  ceiling,  he  had  furnished  to  please 
himself — after  riding  rough-shod  over  the  deco- 

22 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  23 

rater's  plans  and  reducing  that  sensitive  soul  almost 
to  tears.  For  King  had  shouted  at  him.  He  had 
a  way  of  shouting,  when  it  pleased  him  to  do  so. 
In  justification,  it  should  be  said  that  he  only 
shouted  at  a  certain  type  of  man.  But  he  had  sud- 
denly shouted  at  the  decorator,  causing  that  highly- 
strung  gentleman  to  leap  like  a  stung  horse.  And 
then,  standing  with  his  head  down  and  his  eyes 
gleaming,  like  a  bull  about  to  charge,  King  had  told 
the  man  exactly  what  he  thought  of  all  that 
damned,  moth-eaten,  faded  dago  junk  for  which 
the  decorating  firm  had  the  chartered  nerve  to 
charge  him  a  cool  quarter  of  a  million  dol- 
lars. 

After  which,  he  furnished  the  library  according 
to  his  own  ideas.  And  those  ideas  were,  in  fact, 
much  nearer  to  those  of  Lorenzo  the  Magnificent 
than  any  which  the  unassisted  brain  of  the  deco- 
rator could  have  conceived.  For  King  loved  books, 
not  for  their  backs,  but  for  the  distilled  brain-stuff 
inside  of  them.  His  book-cases  rose  to  the  ceiling. 
Alternating  with  the  book-shelves  were  dark  old 
mellow,  carved  oak  panels,  before  which  he  had 


24  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

placed  black-veined  marble  pedestals,  surmounted 
by  the  busts  of  gentlemen  of  whose  intelligences 
Klaggett  King  thought  favourably.  He  had  always 
read  voraciously,  chiefly  at  night  when  he  could  not 
sleep.  He  read,  and  then  he  estimated  the  author 
with  the  same  dispassionate,  clean-cut,  relentless 
judgment,  as  if  the  writer  were  a  client  soliciting 
a  loan. 

Some  of  the  men  whom  he  reported  favourably 
upon  were  Poe,  Machiavelli,  Voltaire,  Montaigne, 
and  Fielding.  Shakespeare  he  described  as  a  fine 
word-slinger,  but  a  sentimentalist  of  the  first  water; 
and  sentimentalists  he  could  not  abide. 

Thus,  with  at  least  a  bowing  acquaintance  with 
the  giants  and  demi-gods  of  literature,  King,  for 
his  private  pleasure,  and  to  while  away  the  long 
sleepless  nights,  began  an  investigation  into  the  sub- 
ject of  dreams.  And  he  discovered  some  interest- 
ing things.  He  discovered  that  the  inventor  of  the 
automatic  brake  had  worked  out  the  secret  of  its 
mechanism  in  a  dream.  He  discovered  that  Julius 
Caesar,  one  of  the  gentlemen  on  his  pedestals,  had 
a  recurrent  dream.  So  also  had  Lincoln. 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  25 

Klaggett  King  pondered  long  over  the  dream  of 
Lincoln,  for  it  offered  some  points  of  resemblance 
to  his  own.  Like  his  own,  it  invariably  marked 
the  milestones  in  his  career;  but  unlike  King,  Lin- 
coln, according  to  his  biographer,  placed  implicit 
confidence  in  it  In  his  dream,  Lincoln  would  find 
himself  aboard  a  strange  vessel,  sailing  over  a 
smooth  yet  sullen  sea,  toward  a  sad-hued,  misty 
shore.  It  had  come  to  him  the  night  before  his 
assassination,  leaving  him  expectant  and  wonder- 
ing. 

This  dream  King  thought  sufficiently  noteworthy 
to  enter  into  his  diary  which  contained  memoranda 
of  the  subject.  For  Lincoln  as  a  humanitarian, 
King  had  no  use;  but  for  Lincoln  the  statesman, 
the  politician,  and  shrewd  manipulator  of  men  he 
entertained  a  profound  admiration.  And  he  once 
remarked  to  Lucinda  that  if  Lincoln  had  been  alive, 
and  in  business,  he  would  have  offered  him  a  part- 
nership in  the  firm. 

Upon  the  subject  of  dreams  he  read  widely,  and 
when  he  had  examined  and  weighed  all  his  mate- 
rial, he  found,  like  Omar,  that  he  had  come  out 


26  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

the  same  door  he  went  in.  Nobody,  it  appeared, 
knew  any  more  on  the  subject  than  did  Klaggett 
King. 

As  a  result  of  all  this  reading  he  fell  into  the 
habit  of  writing  down  his  dream,  immediately  upon 
waking,  while  it  was  still  "warm."  He  also  set 
down  the  first  time  the  dream  made  its  appearance 
in  his  life.  His  notes,  recorded  in  his  diary,  ran 
as  follows: 

"  I  dreamed  I  was  wandering  in  the  sand-dunes 
by  the  sea.  (N.B.  I  did  not  then  know  any  sand- 
dunes,  for  I  was  brought  up  inland;  and  yet  in  my 
dream  I  seemed  to  know  every  foot  of  those  sand- 
dunes,  and  they,  and  the  sea  off  behind  them,  were 
my  best  friends.)  It  was  twilight,  not  yet  dark, 
but  with  a  thickness  in  the  air  which  obscured  the 
features  and  details  of  objects  even  close  at  hand. 
Off  beyond  the  dunes  I  could  hear  the  steady 
pounding  of  the  surf  (could  that  pounding  have 
been  the  throbbing  of  my  heart,  as  one  of  those 
experts  suggests?)  but  the  sea  itself  was  hidden. 
Hidden,  but  the  high  flying  spray  of  the  surf  was 
driving  square  in  my  face,  and  I  could  smell  the 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  27 

strong,  clean  tang  of  the  sea.  The  tide  was  up. 
The  seaweed  was  coming  in.  (How  should  I  know 
that,  who  at  the  time  had  never  smelt  seaweed?); 
All  this  I  sensed  as  I  ran,  bareheaded,  through  the 
dusk. 

"  Suddenly,  a  figure  appeared,  silhouetted  on  the 
top  of  a  dune.  It  was  he !  In  a  flash,  I  knew  him 
for  my  enemy.  It  seems  I  had  been  hanging 
about,  waiting  for  him,  though  this  had  not  been 
apparent  to  me  before.  I  ran  toward  him,  to  kill 
him.  I  was  filled  with  a  violent,  a  savage  joy.  He 
stood  like  a  dark  statue,  looking  down  on  me  from 
the  hill-top.  I  could  not  see  his  face.  I  ran  to 
him,  shouting  I  don't  know  what  foul  insult  at  the 
top  of  my  lungs.  But  when  I  arrived  at  the  hill- 
top he  was  gone. 

"  I  was  wakened  by  the  sound  of  my  own  angry 
laughter,  with  the  sweat  pouring  off  me,  my  heart 
pounding  as  if  I  had  been  running  a  race,  and  in 
my  nostrils  the  strong  acrid  scent  of  the  seaweed. 
And  all  the  next  day,  the  thrill,  the  exhilaration  of 
that  dream  remained  with  me,  a  strange  tingling 
warmth  about  my  heart.  They  say  love  uplifts. 


28  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

But  in  my  dream  it  was  hate  that  uplifted  me.  It 
ran  through  all  my  veins  like  bright  fire." 

In  this,  the  first  dream,  set  down  years  later  from 
memory,  he  could  recall  only  the  high  lights.  But 
in  the  subsequent  ones,  recorded  as  soon  as  he 
awoke,  he  described  every  detail  with  the  same 
scrupulous  exactitude  that  he  required  of  his  in- 
vestigators in  their  business  reports.  After  which, 
just  as  in  the  case  of  the  reports,  he  scrutinised, 
analysed,  summarised,  turned  back  and  compared 
notes  with  previous  dreams — and  in  the  course  of 
the  years  he  evolved  a  theory  as  to  the  signification 
of  the  dream. 

He  told  himself,  however,  that  he  did  not  take 
the  thing  seriously. 

"  A  dream,"  he  wrote  one  night  in  his  notes,  "  is 
just  like  anything  else  in  this  world — it  is  exactly 
what  you  make  of  it.  You  can  make  it  into  a 
mountain  or  a  mole-hill.  You  can  control  it — or 
you  can  let  it  control  you.  If  I  believed  in  this 
dream,  for  example,  it  could  play  the  very  devil 
with  my  nerve.  I  might  believe  that  somebody  was 
going  to  assassinate  me.  I  might  believe  any  one 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  29 

of  a  dozen  things.  One  authority  says  it  may  be 
caused  by  the  way  I  lie  in  bed.  Another  says  it 
may  be  indigestion.  Another  thinks  it  may  be  a 
race-dream,  a  hang-over  from  the  struggles  of  some 
arboreal  ancestor.  Do  I,  Klaggett  King,  honestly 
believe  any  of  these  explanations  which  do  not  ex- 
plain? Well,  I'll  admit  this  much.  I  don't  know." 

It  was  in  the  second  period  of  his  success,  after 
his  reputation  was  solidly  established,  that  Klaggett 
King's  business  took  a  new  twist,  and  he  began  to 
make  the  industrial  concerns  which  came  to  him 
pay  tribute  money  for  the  support  of  his  name. 
His  levies  were  heavy,  sometimes  staggering,  but 
such  was  the  stupendous  industrial  expansion  of 
the  country,  that  his  terms,  exorbitant  beyond  rea- 
son as  they  were,  were  accepted  with  resignation  by 
those  who  realised  that  it  was  worth  any  price  to 
have  Klaggett  King  on  their  side. 

Some  lively  and  rebellious  little  concerns  refused 
to  turn  over  what  amounted  practically  to  a  con- 
trolling interest  in  the  enterprise,  and  continued  on 
what  local  capital  they  could  command.  Some 


30  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

others,  rejecting  his  terms,  and  attempting  to  nego- 
tiate directly  with  the  eastern  sources  of  capital, 
discovered  that  word  had  somehow  mysteriously 
leaked  around  that  the  applicants  had  already  been 
to  Klaggett  King,  who  had  reported  adversely  upon 
them  as  an  unsound  financial  risk. 

Some  of  the  concerns,  finding  themselves  sud- 
denly in  such  a  vise,  with  a  valuable  business  but 
with  all  their  money  invested  in  the  plant,  and  shorn 
by  Klaggett  King's  manoeuvres  of  their  borrowing 
power,  were  forced  into  receiverships.  Upon  which, 
King,  acting  through  agents,  bought  them  in  at 
public  auction,  reorganized  the  company,  put  in  his 
own  directors,  and  maintained  a  controlling  interest 
in  the  enterprise.  Where  he  was  opposed,  he  was 
ruthless.  Upon  a  certain  occasion,  the  president  of 
one  of  these  ruined  companies  blew  out  his  brains, 
and  his  wife  died  of  a  broken  heart  within  the  year. 
And  there  were  whispers  of  other  tragedies,  other 
lives  that  he  had  broken.  What  Klaggett  King 
thought  of  these  affairs,  and  his  own  part  therein, 
the  world  never  knew,  but  he  wrote  one  night  in 
his  diary: 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  31 

"  Business,  like  everything  else  in  nature,  follows 
certain  profound  inexorable  laws.  Puling  senti- 
mentalists cry  out  against  these  laws — call  them 
brutal,  immoral,  unjust.  But  not  all  their  whining 
will  make  those  laws  one  whit  less  operable  in  life; 
for  they  govern  alike  animals  and  men  and  nations, 
and  the  rule  is  the  same  for  all :  Little  beasts  must 
keep  out  of  big  beasts'  way — or  pay  the  penalty." 

He  was  fifty-five  years  old  when  he  wrote  that, 
and  he  knew  whereof  he  spoke,  for  he  had  proved 
every  word  of  it  up  to  the  hilt  by  hard,  actual  ex- 
perience. He  added,  with  caustic  humour: 

"If  sentimentalists  could  see  life,  as  it  really 
exists,  it  would  make  them  scream  in  their  sleep! " 


CHAPTER  FOUR 

KLAGGETT  KING  laid  down  the  book  he  was  read- 
ing, and  sat  back  in  his  chair  and  sighed.  After  a 
moment  of  abstracted  meditation,  he  pulled  out  his 
watch.  It  was  two  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Not 
for  many  nights  had  he  been  in  bed  at  that  hour. 
The  fact  was,  he  slept  worse — or  stayed  awake 
better — in  his  bed  than  any  other  place.  He 
had  grown  to  hate  the  soft  yielding  of  the 
mattress,  which  promised  a  rest  it  did  not  ful- 
fil. 

The  big  octagonal  room,  with  its  busts  and 
faintly  gleaming  rows  of  books,  was  in  sombre 
shadow,  save  for  the  luminous  halo  cast  by  the 
standing  lamp  beside  the  deep  leather  chair  in  which 
sat  Klaggett  King.  He  leaned  back  and  closed  his 
eyes.  Seen  thus,  under  the  brilliant  light,  his  heavy 
pallid  face,  with  the  closed  lids,  the  big  nose,  the 
wide  ironic  mouth  twisting  off  to  one  side,  and  the 

32 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  33 

clean-cut  masterful  jaw,  was  not  unlike  the  marble 
bust  of  some  lean,  rugged  old  Roman  consul  and 
colonial  administrator,  and  not  lacking  in  nobility. 
Hardness,  obstinacy,  and  a  certain  caustic  phi- 
losophy were  stamped  on  those  features  which  at 
the  moment  were  as  sharp  and  still  as  if  cut  in 
statuary.  Only  an  occasional  slight  twitching  of  the 
eyelids  proclaimed  he  was  still  awake. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  he  was  not  asleep — though 
he  had  a  feeling  that  sleep  was  hovering  not  far 
away.  Perhaps  later.  .  .  .  For  the  moment  he  was 
thinking  of  that  Frenchman,  whose  book  on  dreams 
he  had  just  laid  down.  Of  the  whole  crowd,  he 
was  the  sanest  King  had  ever  read.  But  what  a 
man!  What  a  will!  A  scientist,  at  the  age  of 
thirty  he  had  set  out  to  make  a  first-hand  study  of 
dreams,  and  for  ten  years,  holding  that  purpose 
steadily  in  view,  he  had  waked  himself  in  the  night 
by  means  of  an  alarm-clock,  or  a  bell,  and  recorded 
his  dreams.  Or  if  he  had  none,  he  recorded  that 
fact.  And  it  was  the  endurance  of  this  admirable 
imbecile  of  a  Frenchman  which  had  made  King 
sigh. 


34  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

"  Good  God ! "  he  mused,  in  weary  admiration. 
"What  a  fool!  An  alarm-clock,  eh?" 

He  grimaced,  pressing  his  lips  hard  over  his 
teeth,  as  he  visualised  that  shrill,  brutal  little 
destroyer  of  sleep.  He  slid  down  deeper  in  his 
chair  and  cautiously  elevated  his  feet  to  a  more 
comfortable  position  on  the  brocade  seat  of  a  pre- 
cious fauteuil,  his  mind  still  playing  around  the 
Frenchman  who  could  wake  himself  in  the  night. 
This  was  a  game  of  visualisation  by  means  of 
which,  sometimes,  he  could  put  himself  to  sleep. 

The  Frenchman's  bedroom  would  be  dark. 
King's  hand  went  up  and  switched  off  the  light. 
And  he  would  be  lying  flat  in  bed,  breathing  regu- 
larly, for,  of  course,  he  was  asleep — sound  asleep. 
King's  chest  rose  and  fell  regularly,  in  simulation 
of  the  slumbering  Frenchman.  His  features  re- 
laxed. His  consciousness  seemed  floating,  exqui- 
sitely floating,  on  a  smooth  dusky  tide  which  was 
bearing  him  softly  away.  A  delicious  languor  en- 
thralled him  like  a  spell — an  enchantment,  dewy, 
drowsy,  dim,  of  all  his  jaded  faculties.  His  chin 
sank  lower  upon  his  chest.  He  felt  himself  drift- 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  35 

ing  .  .  .  drifting.  .  .  .  Lights  began  to  glimmer 
in  his  brain.  .  .  .  They  were  the  far-off  lights  of 
the  dim  land  of  sleep.  .  .  . 

Suddenly  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  in  his 
private  office,  seated  at  his  desk,  looking  at  the 
door.  His  secretary  was  ushering  in  Pinkney 
Sloane. 

"  Morning,  Mr.  King.  Royal  day !  "  said  Sloane, 
and  King  observed,  but  without  surprise,  that  his 
visitor  had  on  neither  shoes  nor  socks.  His  feet 
were  naked,  and  coming  out  from  his  blue  serge 
trousers,  they  looked  abnormally  big  and  white  and 
cold. 

King  decided  not  to  say  anything  to  Sloane  about 
his  naked  feet  in  Wall  Street.  .  .  .  Might  hurt  his 
feelings. 

"  Sit  down,  Sloane!"  said  he,  and  he  laughed.  ,  .  . 

Suddenly,  a  great  agonising  shudder  shook  him 
from  head  to  foot,  and  startled  him  into  crude,  raw 
consciousness,  the  laugh  still  curving  his  lips. 

King  opened  his  eyes  and  lay  staring  into  the 
dark.  He  had  not  quite  made  it  after  all.  Al- 
most— but  not  quite!  A  thousand  times,  by  ruse, 


36  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

stratagem  or  guile,  he  had  tried  to  outflank  sleep, 
to  slide  in  behind  the  sentinels  or  outposts  who  kept 
the  guard,  and  then,  just  as  he  thought  he  had  won 
by  and  was  well  inside,  would  come  this  great  nerv- 
ous shudder,  like  a  rough  hand  on  his  shoulder, 
shaking  him  wide  awake. 

He  reached  up,  switched  on  the  light,  and  found 
his  place  in  the  book.  After  a  time  his  eyes  strayed 
thoughtfully  down  to  his  feet.  They  felt  cramped 
and  chill;  they  were  crossed,  one  over  the  other; 
and  one  of  his  slippers  had  fallen  to  the  floor. 
King  reached  down  and  touched  one  of  his  ankles; 
it  was  as  icy  cold  through  the  thin  silk  as  Sloane's 
had  looked  in  the  dream. 

"  Hm !  "  he  deduced  grimly.  "  And  there  you 
are!  That's  the  whole  explanation  in  a  nutshell." 

He  rose,  somewhat  stiffly,  and  stretched  himself 
to  his  full  gaunt  height.  And  suddenly,  like  a  flash, 
he  felt  again  within  himself  a  delicious,  drowsy 
languor,  a  faint,  sweet  yielding  of  all  his  senses,  as 
if  the  boat  of  his  soul  had  been  loosed,  insensibly, 
and  was  rocking,  gently,  to  the  outward  drift  of 
the  tide. 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  37, 

"  By  George !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  I  believe  I'm 
going  to  sleep  to-night." 

He  switched  off  the  lights,  and  stepping  care- 
fully in  order  not  to  brush  away  the  delicious,  drift- 
ing dimness  of  his  mind,  traversed  the  length  of 
the  corridor  to  his  own  room.  In  ten  minutes  he 
was  lying  flat  between  the  smooth  cool  sheets,  on 
the  yielding  mattress,  prepared  to  drift  away.  But 
now,  by  a  perverse  contrariety  of  mood,  he  could 
not  drift.  The  delicious  dreaminess  which  had 
woven  its  enchanted  drowsy  web  about  his  senses 
had  melted  entirely  away;  and  in  its  place  was  a 
hard,  live,  alert  devil  of  wide-awakeness,  sardonic, 
brazen,  which  seemed  to  mock  at  him.  His  eye- 
balls ached  with  the  tension.  The  dew  of  exhaus- 
tion stood  out  on  his  cheek.  But  he  fought  on. 
An  hour  passed.  Methodically,  one  after  another, 
he  went  through  all  the  sleep-producing  exercises 
he  knew,  and  at  the  end  was  more  brutally  wide 
awake  than  before. 

Abruptly,  he  surrendered.  He  sat  up,  switched 
on  the  current,  grimacing  with  pain  as  the  flash 
of  bright  light  streamed  across  his  eyeballs,  flung 


38  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

his  legs  over  the  bedside,  and  sat  scowling  and 
blinking  and  brooding.  He  had  never  been  a  hand- 
some man;  but  now,  with  his  hollow  eyes  fixed 
sternly  before  him,  with  his  thin  ravaged  face  under 
the  disordered  grey  hair  twitching  witR  uncon- 
trollable nervousness,  and  his  mouth  twisting  off 
to  one  side,  there  hung  over  him  an  air  of  terrible, 
wrung  seriousness  which  gave  him  a  distinction  all 
its  own. 

For  the  moment  he  had  come  to  the  end  of  his 
tether.  He  had  to  have  help.  Three  alternatives 
confronted  him.  He  could  summon  his  man, 
Rene,  who  would  offer  him  an  opiate ;  or  he  could 
return  to  the  library  for  another  go  at  that  damned 
cool-blooded  Frenchman  and  his  alarm-clock;  or  he 
could  arouse  Lucinda. 

He  decided  for  Lucinda,  groped  with  an  explor- 
ing foot  for  his  slippers,  found  them,  and  then  sat 
for  a  long  minute,  hoping  against  hope  that  the 
sweet,  delicious  languor  of  drowsiness  would  steal 
again  over  his  senses.  But  his  brain  was  as  clear 
as  a  bell. 

With  a  grunt  of   impatience,  he  rose,  padded 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  39 

across  to  the  adjoining  room,  pressed  the  button 
by  the  door,  and  flooded  the  place  with  mellow 
light.  In  the  bed  at  the  far  end  of  the  room, 
Lucinda  was  lying,  nestling  her  cheek  in  her  palm. 
One  long  silky  strand  of  pale  gold  hair  curled 
across  her  shoulder.  Her  profile,  pure  and  pale 
against  the  white  pillow,  brought  a  subtle  assuage- 
ment to  Klaggett  King — despite  his  antagonism 
against  her  for  her  ability  to  sleep.  He  crossed 
to  her  side  and  stood  over  her,  half  angry,  half 
appeased  by  the  soft  clear  tranquil  charm  of  that 
still  face. 

"Lucinda!" 

At  a  certain  savage  stage  of  his  sleeplessness, 
King  would  have  roused  all  the  world  had  he  been 
able — with  an  alarm-clock — to  keep  the  vigil  with 
him. 

"Lucinda!" 

How  soundly  she  slept!  Across  her  temple 
meandered  a  tiny  transparently  blue  vein,  definitely 
visible  just  above  the  closed  eye,  and  then  sinking 
to  hidden  levels.  It  was  a  head  which  would  have 
delighted  a  sculptor,  small,  but  with  an  exquisite 


40  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

sureness  of  modelling  of  every  feature,  the  eyes, 
the  delicately  chiselled  nose,  the  lovely  faintly  smil- 
ing mouth,  clear-carved  as  archaic  statuary. 

1  My  love,  she  sleeps !  Oh,  may  her  sleep  as 
it  is  lasting,  so  be  deep!  Soft  may  the  worms 
about  her  creep ! '  .  .  .  Who  was  it  had  said  that  ? 
Poe,  of  course — another  man  who  couldn't  sleep. 
...  A  madman — but  fine.  .  .  ." 

"  Lucinda !  "  He  bent  down  and  put  a  hand  on 
her  shoulder. 

Lucinda's  eyelids  lifted.  She  lay  gazing  up  at 
him  for  a  moment,  her  eyes  still  vague  with  dreams. 
Then  she  smiled. 

"Hello— dearesty!" 

"  Hello  yourself.  I'm  going  to  buy  a  trumpet 
to  wake  you  with.  You  sleep  like  the  righteous 
dead." 

Lucinda  laughed,  and  sat  up,  pushing  back  her 
hair. 

"  I  was  tired.  Celia  dragged  me  around  all  day 
with  her,  shopping.  And  then  I  saw  her  off  on 
the  train.  What  time  is  it  ?  " 

"Just  off  daylight." 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  41 

"Teh!  Teh!"  She  made  soft  little  sounds  of 
pity,  her  quick  glance  taking  in  the  nervous  ravage 
of  his  haggard  face.  "Why  didn't  you  wake  me 
before?  Why  do  you  keep  on  battling  away  all 
by  yourself  ?  " 

"  Because  the  only  way  I  know  how  to  fight  is 
to  fight.  If  I  thought  I  could  sleep  better  by  wak- 
ing you,  I'd  have  waked  you  long  before  this — 
never  fear."  He  spoke  with  a  hard,  biting  irony 
and  eased  himself  down  into  a  chaise  longue. 

Lucinda  slipped  out  of  bed,  drew  her  arms 
through  a  gauzy  smock  of  translucent  rose,  and 
rebraided  her  hair,  her  dark  eyes  fixed  thoughtfully 
on  her  husband's  face.  She  saw  before  her  a 
struggle  in  which  Klaggett  King  did  not  intend  to 
help — was  perhaps  past  the  power  to  help  her  or 
to  help  himself.  To  win  him  out  of  his  gloomy 
self -absorption  was  the  first  prerequisite  of  slumber, 
and  to  achieve  this  object  Lucinda  had  often  to 
anger  him. 

"  Did  you  see  Celia  before  she  left  ? "  she  began 
conversationally. 

"  I  did  not  see  her,  and  I  did  not  know  she  had 


42  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

left,"  King  replied  succinctly  from  behind  closed 
lids.  "  Celia  doesn't  trouble  to  acquaint  her  father 
with  her  movements  any  more  since  she  went  to 
war." 

Lucinda  smiled.    Her  ruse  had  been  successful. 

"Celia  is  a  strong-minded  girl,"  she  said  lightly. 
"  I've  no  idea  where  she  gets  that  soft  obstinacy 
of  hers." 

King  opened  one  sardonic  eye. 

"  Soft !  That  girl's  about  as  soft  as  a  young 
marble  quarry — and  as  impervious  to  suggestion. 
Where  did  she  go?" 

"  Out  to  some  place  she  calls  a  dude-ranch  in  the 
mountains  of  Wyoming.  It  seems  there  was  a 
sergeant  who  was  in  the  war — no,  this  particular 
one  was  a  runner Do  you  know  what  a  run- 
ner is?" 

"  I  might." 

"Well,  according  to  Celia,  it's  something  won- 
derfully brave  and  fine.  He  crawls  through  the 
lines  with  letters  and  orders  and  so  on  and  nearly 
always  gets  killed." 

"And  did  Celia's  get  killed ?" 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  43 

"  Yes.  He  came  in  all  smashed  to  pieces  to  the 
mobile  unit  she  was  with  during  the  last  months 
of  the  war.  You  know,  she  worked  as  nurse  in 
the  operating-room  of  one  of  those  mobile  hospital 
units  which,  it  seems,  followed  right  behind  the 
army  during  the  offensives,  and  was  shelled  and 
air-raided — and  Celia,  as  you  know,  came  in  for 
her  share " 

"  I  didn't  know.  I  don't  know  the  first  thing 
about  her  affairs.  She  didn't  favour  her  father  with 
any  letters " 

"  But — Klaggett !  Do  be  just.  Whose  fault  was 
that?  You  washed  your  hands  of  her — and  in  a 
very  forcible  manner " 

"  What  about  that  dead  runner?" 

He  had  opened  both  eyes  now,  and  lay  watching 
her  braid  her  hair.  It  was  a  thin  little  pigtail  and 
it  made  her  look  oddly  like  a  girl. 

Lucinda  laughed.  She  had  a  pretty  laugh,  fresh 
and  musical,  with  a  warm  tenderness  at  its  core. 

"  Well,  he  died,  but  Celia  nursed  him  and  went 
to  his  funeral  and  took  a  picture  of  his  grave.  And 
afterward  she  wrote  to  his  people,  who  keep  this 


44  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

dude-ranch.  They  invited  her  out  to  visit  them. 
You  see,  they  don't  know  she's  the  daughter  of 
Klaggett  King.  Nobody  does."  There  was  a 
thread  of  laughter  in  her  voice.  "  For  when  you 
renounced  Celia,  she  followed  suit  and  renounced 
you.  During  the  war,  she  was  just  plain  Celia 
King,  trained  nurse.  She  lived  on  her  nurse's  pay 
— when  she  got  it — and  was  as  proud  as  Punch." 

"  I  notice  she's  always  overdrawn  on  her  allow- 
ance. I'm  forever  squaring  her  up  at  the  bank. 
She  doesn't  seem  to  be  incognito  there.  I've  ob- 
served the  fine  independence  of  this  present  gen- 
eration doesn't  seem  to  extend  to  the  bank-account. 
Celia  throws  me  over — but  she  lets  me  foot  the 
bills." 

"  But  you  couldn't  exactly  call  those  demands 
bills,  dear.  They're  not  for  herself.  They're  for 
soldiers'  clubs,  and  vocational  training  for  a 
few  disabled  men— cases  the  government  won't 
touch." 

"  Charities,  then.  All  right.  They're  her  chari- 
ties— not  mine.  Now,  I'm  going  to  have  a  talk 
with  Celia  when  she  comes  back.  That's  the  rea- 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  45 

son,  in  my  judgment,  that  she  dodged  off  without 
seeing  me  before  she  left." 

"  Celia  would  scorn  to  dodge  you,"  laughed 
Lucinda,  "  if  you  were  the  devil  himself.  She  tried 
three  times  to  get  you  at  the  office,  but  your  secre- 
tary said  you  were  in  a  conference  and  had  left 
orders  not  to  be  disturbed.  The  very  last  thing  she 
said  to  me  when  she  kissed  me  good-bye  at  the 
station  was :  '  Momkins,  father  and  I  are  due  to 
have  a  row,  a  first-class  pyrotechnic  exhibition, 
when  I  get  back.  Please  give  him  my  love  and 
tell  him  not  to  worry.  I  shan't! ' " 


CHAPTER  FIVE 

LUCINDA  vanished  into  the  bath-room,  to  chill 
her  wrists  and  fingers  under  a  rushing  spray  of  ice- 
cold  water.  She  could  hear  King's  growled  com- 
ments over  his  daughter's  shortcomings,  but  she 
could  not  distinguish  the  words.  She  smiled  sagely 
to  herself — for  the  more  he  roared  and  raged  now 
the  more  likely  he  was  to  sleep  later  on.  She  re- 
appeared presently,  bearing  a  bowl  of  ice-cold 
water  and  a  towel,  seated  herself  beside  him 
and  proceeded  to  chill  her  fingers  more  thor- 
oughly. 

"  Turn  out  the  light,"  commanded  King. 

"  Not  yet.  I've  not  told  you  all  of  Celia's  mes- 
sage." She  was  trailing  her  fingers  lightly  through 
the  water  and  spoke  without  looking  up.  "  It's 
about  Mr.  Pym." 

"He  proposed — eh?"  King  spoke  up  sharply. 
"  He  told  me  about  three  weeks  ago  that  he  thought 

46 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  47 

he'd  try  his  luck  again.  Celia's  kept  him  dangling 
for  about  two  years  now.  Well  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  proposed — after  a  manner.  Celia 
said  he  didn't  appear  extremely  enthusiastic.  She 
said  he  said :  '  You  know,  Miss  Celia,  your  father 
has  set  his  heart  on  this  match.  And  I  think 
myself  we'd — we'd — ah — hit  it  off  all  right — if — 
ah — you'd — ah — consent  to  calm  down '  " 

"  He  was  scared,"  growled  King,  smiling  despite 
himself.  "  Celia's  enough  to  scare  any  man,  and 
Pym's  timid  with  women.  He's  been  a  widower 
so  long  he  forgets  how  it  goes." 

"A  widower — and  fifty " 

"  Hold  on.     Not  forty-five." 

" with  no  life,  nor  warmth,  nor  charm.  A 

shivery  old  maid — finicky,  fussy.  Why,  darling, 
what  would  he  do  with  Celia  if  he  had  her — a 
beautiful,  live,  gay  girl  of  twenty-two?" 

"You  underestimate  Pym,"  said  King  dryly. 
"  Women  are  no  judges  of  men.  They  think  if 
a  man  has  a  shy  or  timid  manner,  there's  nothing 
to  him.  Pym  is  the  sole  owner  and  operator  of  one 
of  the  keenest  brains  I've  ever  known.  He's  got 


48  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

better  judgment  than  I  have  along  certain  lines. 
He's  cooler.  That's  the  reason  I  chose  him  for  a 
partner.  That's  the  reason  he'll  make  a  good  hus- 
band for  Celia.  He's  dead  right.  She  needs  calm- 
ing down.  And  Pym  is  the  man  to  calm  her.  You 
don't  know  him." 

"  It  doesn't  look  as  if  I  were  going  to  have  the 
opportunity,"  she  murmured.  "  If  you'd  seen 
Celia's  face  as  she  told  me  about  it!  It  seems 
your  Mr.  Pym  retreated  without  advancing,  so  to 
speak." 

"  It's  a  wise  man  that  knows  how  to  retreat." 

"  Not  in  the  opinion  of  an  enthusiastic  young 
lady  of  twenty-two.  You  see,  dear,  Mr.  Pym  may 
have  brains  and  be  an  excellent  partner  and  all  that 
— but  that's  not  what  my  Celia  will  marry  him  for. 
He's  slow  when  he  ought  to  be  swift,  still  when 
he  ought  to  speak,  gentle  when  he  ought  to  be  firm, 
and  serious  when  he  ought  to  be  gay.  In  short, 
he's  too  old.  He  won't  do.  And  Celia  told  me 
to  tell  you  to  break  the  news  to  him." 

"I'll  be  damned  if  I  do,"  said  King  gruffly. 
"  You're  on  Celia's  side.  Well,  I'm  on  Pym's  side. 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  49 

And  we'll  see  who  wins.  Did  she  go  out  to  that 
place  all  by  herself  ?  " 

Luanda  laughed.  "Oh,  no,  I  sent  Miss  Tauser 
along.  But  Celia  made  little  Tauser  promise  faith- 
fully not  to  divulge  her  kinship  with  us  before  she'd 
permit  her  even  to  get  on  the  train.  She  had  an 
idea  that  the  people  who  invited  her  might  be  fussed 
if  they  knew  who  she  was.  You  see,  they  think 
she's  just  a  regular  professional  nurse." 

"  Damned  masquerading  nonsense,"  muttered 
King.  "  How  long  is  she  going  to  stay?" 

"  Well,  she  didn't  say,"  murmured  Lucinda. 
"  Two  or  three  months." 

She  had  switched  off  the  light,  settled  King's 
head  comfortably  among  the  cushions,  and  stand- 
ing behind  him,  began  to  smooth  his  temples.  Her 
fingers,  cool,  yet  tingling  with  vitality,  assuaged  his 
tormented  nerves  like  music. 

"  Celia's  tired,"  she  continued.  "  She  deserves 
a  rest.  Think  of  it,  Klaggett!  One  year  with  the 
mobile  unit  right  up  behind  our  lines !  Think  of  all 
the  horrible  sights  she  saw!  Then,  when  she  re- 
turned, nothing  would  do  but  she  must  continue  her 


50  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

nursing  down  at  the  polyclinic,  with  the  wounded 
soldiers  there.  I  tried  to  argue  her  out  of  it.  But 
Mrs.  Danbury  who  has  charge,  told  her  that  all 
the  other  girls  after  the  war  was  over  had  slacked 
on  their  jobs — and  after  that  wild  horses  couldn't 
have  torn  her  away.  She  says  it's  an  affair  of 
honour  to  the  nation  that  somebody  shall  see  those 
boys  through." 

"  Theatric,"  grunted  King,  drowsily. 

"  Yes,  of  course,"  soothed  Lucinda.  "  And  yet 
the  child  has  stuck  to  her  guns." 

Her  voice,  low,  casual,  with  its  little  thread  of 
suppressed  mirth,  ran  on  close  to  his  ear. 

"Lucinda!" 

His  voice,  heavy,  blurred  with  fatigue,  seemed  to 
come  from  far  away.  In  the  dark  her  brows  drew; 
together  in  a  sharp  line.  Scarcely  she  breathed. 

"Lucinda!" 

When  King  began  to  murmur  in  that  faint,  de- 
tached, yet  lucid  fashion,  as  if  his  soul  were  float- 
ing far  away,  it  meant  nothing  more  nor  less  than 
that  he  had  started  out  on  the  road  to  sleep  but 
had  lost  his  way,  and  might  wander,  half -aware, 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  51 

in  that  dim,  uncharted  borderland  for  hours.  Lu- 
cinda  hung  above  him,  intent,  speechless.  Her 
fingers,  light  and  cool  as  first  snowflakes,  just 
touched  his  temples  and  melted  away. 

"Lucinda!" 

She  bit  her  lip,  but  breathed  softly: 

"Don't  talk,  love.     Just  float  away." 

"  Did  you  buy  that  book  on  dreams  ?  " 

"  Yes.    It  was  trash." 

"  They  usually  are." 

"Why  do  you  bother  about  that  silly  old 
dream  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  take  much  stock  in  it." 

"  It  makes  you  fight  everybody  and  every- 
thing!" 

"  Well,  I  like  to  fight.  And  I'll  tell  you  this." 
His  voice  sounded  stronger  in  the  dark.  "  I  don't 
believe  in  that  dream  the  way  you  think  I  do.  But 
I'll  say  one  thing.  Without  that  dream  to  drive 
me  on,  I'd  have  been  a  nobody,  a  nameless  stick- 
in-the-mud  all  my  life.  It's  been  a  good  partner 
to  me." 

He  appeared  to  drowse.    In  a  moment  he  began 


52  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

again,  in  that  still,  remote  little  voice  which  sounded 
as  if  it  came  over  a  long-distance  telephone. 

"  There's  a  young  man  .  .  .  name  of  Sloane. 
.  .  .  Pinkney  Sloane  .  .  .  been  in  the  army.  .  .  . 
Reminds  me  of  Celia  .  .  .  pig-headed.  .  .  ." 

He  broke  off  and  was  silent  so  long  that  Lucinda 
thought  he  had  gone.  His  head  had  sunk  down  in 
the  cushions;  his  limbs  seemed  a  dead  weight. 

"  Smart  "...  the  dreamy  voice  flowed  on,  "  but 
pig-headed.  Thinks  he  knows  it  all.  .  .  .  He's  got 
a  good  thing,  and  it's  even  better  than  he  knows. 
.  .  .  Got  to  be  handled  right,  though.  .  .  .  But 
he's  so  pig-headed.  .  .  ." 

"  Don't  fight  him !  "  cried  out  Lucinda  suddenly, 
and  her  voice  held  a  quiver  in  the  dark. 

"  Not  going  to  fight  him — if  he's  reasonable. 
But  he  won't  be.  ...  Pig-headed.  .  .  .  Think  the 
young  ass  is  going  to  fight  me ! " 

She  waited,  hanging  above  him,  watchful,  im- 
mobile, every  faculty  and  fibre  of  her  being  con- 
centrated, strung  to  a  single  issue. 

«  Lu— " 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  53 

"Ssh!" 

" cinda!" 

"Yes,  love?" 

"I  think.  .  .  .  I'm  going  to  sleep." 

"  Of  course  you  are.    You're  asleep  already." 

And  that,  presently,  was  the  truth. 


CHAPTER  SIX 

CELIA  had  stopped  all  of  two  weeks  at  Hunter's 
Ranch  before  there  pierced  through  to  the  intense 
inner  preoccupation  of  her  brooding  young  con- 
sciousness which  was  sitting  in  high  judgment  upon 
the  world,  the  flesh,  and  the  devil,  the  fact  that 
there  was  in  her  lonely  Eden  an  Adam  in  the  shape 
of  a  lean,  long-legged  young  man  with  a  shock  of 
tow-coloured  hair  above  a  fine  forehead,  humorous 
grey  eyes,  and  a  flashing  smile.  For  a  whole  fort- 
night she  had  been  so  wrapped  up  in  her  own  prob- 
lems that  she  did  not  see  him  as  an  individual,  but 
only  as  part  of  the  general  masculine  furniture  of 
the  scene.  And  this  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he 
had  been  duly  presented  to  her  on  the  first  night 
of  her  arrival  by  Hunter,  the  owner  of  the  ranch, 
with  something  of  a  flourish. 

"Miss  King,  meet  Mr.  Pinkney  Sloane— lately 
Major  Sloane,  in  the  artillery.  Say,  Pink,  didn't 

54 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  55 

you  say  you  were  up  in  that  mess  in  the  Argonne, 
where  you  lost  your  guns  in  mud  so  deep  you  had 
to  take  soundings  to  locate  them?  Miss  King  was 
somewhere  around  there.  You  two  ought  to  get 
together." 

It  was  a  promising  beginning.  But  Miss  King, 
apparently,  did  not  think  much  of  erstwhile  young 
majors  in  the  artillery.  She  presented  him  with 
what  Pinkney  termed  a  sculptural  smile,  but  above 
it  her  dark  blue  eyes  were  about  as  warm  as  a  gla- 
cier in  the  sun. 

For  a  week  he  endeavoured  to  make  her  see  him. 
He  unlimbered  his  best  line  of  anecdotes  at  table; 
he  talked  to  Hunter,  to  Mrs.  Hunter,  to  Mrs. 
Hunter's  baby,  a  trenchant  male  of  three  summers; 
he  even  tried  to  lure  little  Miss  Tauser  into  a  smile. 
But  out  of  Celia,  for  whom  all  the  demonstrations 
were  intended,  he  could  not  win  so  much  as  the 
flutter  of  a  white  eyelid. 

At  the  end  of  a  week  he  gave  it  up  and  decided 
she  must  be  shell-shocked.  And  it  was  that  which 
caused  her  to  go  about  so  pensive  and  cloudy-eyed, 
as  if  wrapped  in  a  dream. 


56  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

Waxing  heavily  sentimental  within  himself,  he 
called  her  his  shell-shocked  goddess.  But  shell- 
shocked  or  not,  he  discovered  that  her  face  oppo- 
site his  at  table  was  not  an  affliction  to  the  eyes, 
and  he  surrendered  himself  to  the  frank  study  of 
that  pure  oval,  deliciously  tinted,  with  the  long 
fringed  dark  lashes  and  the  delicate  arched  eye- 
brows, under  the  aura  of  dull  gold  hair  which  she 
wore  twisted  around  her  small  shapely  head  like  a 
crown. 

Her  profile,  he  decided,  resembled  the  medallion 
head  of  the  Maid  of  Verdun,  a  reproduction  of 
which  he  had  bought  one  day  at  the  citadel  of  Ver- 
dun. There  was  the  same  firmly  modelled  chin — 
that  obstinate  little  chin  was  the  feminine  replica 
of  Klaggett  King's,  but  Sloane  could  not  know 
that;  the  same  fluted  lips — these  were  Luanda's 
gift — archaic,  adorable;  and  the  same  clear,  fear- 
less eyes  which  said :  "  Thou  shalt  not  pass ! " 

Thus  he  gazed  and  mused  sentimentally  and 
gazed  again  during  the  age-long  fortnight  when 
Celia  did  not  look  at  him,  save  as  one  looks  at  a 
stick  of  wood  before  putting  it  on  the  fire  to  burn. 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  57 

Nevertheless,  he  lost  no  opportunity,  and  he  blew 
on  every  little  live  spark  of  chance  with  all  his 
might  to  see  if  he  could  not  thereby  start  a  con- 
flagration; for  a  conflagration  was  of  all  things 
what  he  most  desired.  His  steady  humorous  grey 
eyes  were  never  very  far  from  her  face  when  that 
face  was  anywhere  near;  his  long  legs  were  always 
ready  to  leap  up  and  open  the  door,  or  to  walk  by 
her  side  at  night  the  few  paces  to  her  cabin;  and 
at  table  his  pleasant  voice  was  always  ready  with: 
"  Pepper,  Miss  King?  "  "  Sugar,  Miss  King?  "  or 
"  It's  a  stunning  night,  Miss  King.  Come  out  and 
look  at  the  mountains.  They've  moved  right  up 
into  the  back  yard." 

These  remarks  on  his  part  always  began  or  ended 
with  a  little  burst  of  laughter,  for  which  he  men- 
tally cursed  himself  but  could  in  no  wise  control. 
Ever  since  his  boyhood  he  had  laughed  when  he 
was  in  danger,  or  excited,  or  afraid;  and  in  the 
presence  of  Celia  he  was  a  little  of  all  three. 

In  defence  of  Celia's  unawareness  three  things 
should  be  stated.  First  of  all,  though  she  was 
neither  outrageously  beautiful,  nor  witty,  nor  good, 


58  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

she  possessed  that  unnameable  quality  which  made 
men  like  to  stick  around,  and  leap  up  and  open 
doors.  They  had  been  doing  it  ever  since  she  was 
in  pinafores,  and  the  performance  of  Pinkney 
Sloane  was  thus  neither  unexpected  nor  original. 
In  the  second  place,  she  had  her  father's  gift  of 
complete  absorption  in  the  matter  in  hand.  And 
finally,  in  the  third  place,  she  could  not  for  the 
moment  see  Pinkney  Sloane  because  her  mind's  eye 
was  filled,  to  the  exclusion  of  all  else,  with  the  world 
and  the  flesh  and  the  devil. 

The  world  was  John  Philip  Pym,  who  wanted 
her  to  marry  him,  but  wanted  it  only  with  the  wise, 
cool,  middle-aged  moderation  with  which  he  would 
want  to  play  golf  on  a  sunny  afternoon.  The  flesh 
was  her  beloved  mother  who  wanted  her  to  stop 
choosing  hard,  live,  ugly  things;  who  wanted  her 
to  stop  working  in  the  hospital,  to  stop  fighting  her 
father,  and  to  stop  saying  sarcastic  things  to  Mr. 
Pym ;  who  wanted  her,  in  short,  to  give  up  her  own 
will  and  find  her  happiness  in  submission,  as  Lu- 
cinda  had  done  with  Klaggett  King.  The  devil  was 
her  father,  Klaggett  King.  And  Celia  was  fighting 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  59 

all  three.  The  world  she  scorned,  witH  the  mag- 
nificent scornfulness  of  youth;  the  flesh  she  loved 
with  all  her  heart;  and  the  devil,  by  a  cynical  look 
or  a  caustic  phrase,  could  turn  her  into  his  own 
likeness,  ugly,  proud-willed,  and  hard— so  that  she 
was  greatly  afraid  of  him. 

She  had  come  out  to  this  quiet  spot  to  be  by 
herself  and  to  think  things  through  to  the  bitter 
end.  There  is  no  bitter-ender  on  earth  quite  so 
bitter  as  an  earnest  young  woman  of  twenty-two. 
It  is  the  old  ones  who  are  the  artful  dodgers  in 
life. 

But  even  at  twenty-two,  and  even  with  the  world 
and  the  flesh  and  the  devil  all  rolled  into  one  re- 
doubtable, horrific,  scaly  dragon,  tail-lashing,  fire- 
splashing,  the  time  arrives  when  bitter-ending  ceases 
to  allure  as  a  pastime  and  the  mind  turns  lightly 
to  other  things.  So  it  was  with  Celia.  At  the  end 
of  a  fortnight  she  had  about  settled  everything. 
She  had  settled  her  own  future — an  apartment 
downtown,  with  a  fire  and  a  latch-key,  and  mother, 
if  she  behaved  nicely,  coming  in  for  tea.  She  had 
settled  her  father — let  him  cut  her  off  with  a 


60  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

shilling.  And  she  had  settled  her  luke-warm 
elderly  lover — br-r-rrr ! 

And  having  thus  settled  everything,  and  brought 
her  affairs  strictly  up  to  date,  she  awoke  one  morn- 
ing tremendously  refreshed — and  that  was  the  day 
on  which  she  really  saw  Pinkney  Sloane. 

It  was  about  time.  Sloane  had  decided  to  go 
back  to  work,  and  he  had  nailed  that  gloomy  reso- 
lution to  the  mast  by  riding  in  to  the  nearest  sta- 
tion and  telegraphing  his  foreman  that  important 
business  still  detained  him  in  the  west.  Having 
thus  despatched  his  Magna  Charta  of  independence 
of  women,  he  galloped  sombrely  back  to  the  ranch, 
reflecting  contemptuously  that  a  man  who  could 
cave  like  that  deserved  the  worst  that  could  arrive. 
After  which,  he  returned  to  the  important  business 
of  sticking  around  until  Celia  should  come  alive. 

And  then,  suddenly,  as  if  to  reward  his  patience, 
Celia  came  very  much  alive  all  in  a  minute  and 
without  any  premonitory  signs.  She  stepped  forth 
from  her  log-cabin  one  blazing  hot  mid-afternoon, 
dressed  for  riding  in  a  tan-coloured  linen  habit,  and 
a  pair  of  beautifully  varnished  brown  boots. 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  6f 

Those  smart,  lacquered  little  brown  boots  were 
a  masterpiece  of  French  decorative  art.  They  were 
the  kind  of  boots  that  Connie  Gilchrist  danced  in 
with  a  skipping-rope  before  the  footlights,  when 
her  feet  were  the  toast  of  Londontown.  They 
were  the  kind  of  boots  that  Louise  de  la  Valliere 
wore  when  she  rode  in  the  forest  of  Fontainebleau 
with  the  king.  Of  exquisite  workmanship,  they 
were  just  a  little  more  gay,  just  a  little  more  auda- 
ciously devilish,  just  a  little  more  burnished  and 
flauntingly  feminine  than  any  one  but  a  famous 
French  bootmaker  could  dream  of  or  achieve. 

And  Sloane,  who  knew  something  of  hand-made 
boots  in  Paris,  surmised  that  these  must  have  come 
from  that  celebrated  maison  in  the  Place  Vendome 
which  had  no  sign  on  its  door,  where  one  entered 
with  reverence,  by  introduction  only,  commanded 
a  pair  of  boots,  each  member  of  which  cost  at  least 
fifty  dollars  apiece,  and  were  delivered  at  the  end 
of  several  months,  signed  like  a  masterpiece  on  a 
square  of  hand-embroidered  silk  in  the  lining,  with 
the  name  of  the  artist. 

And  Sloane's  surmise  was  correct.    But  in  addi- 


62  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

tion,  in  Celia's  case,  her  boots  bore  a  particular 
title.  For  her  feet  had  pleased  the  great  boot- 
maker, and  upon  the  brocaded  square  which  bore 
his  signature  he  had  caused  to  be  embroidered  in 
fine  red  silk  the  words :  Petit  Amour.  Which  sig- 
nified, that  in  the  estimation  of  the  Frenchman, 
Celia's  feet  were  little  loves.  But  this  official  cor- 
roboration  of  his  own  private  taste,  Sloane  did  not 
stumble  across  until  considerably  later. 

At  the  moment  he  contented  himself  with  the 
mental  comment  that  those  boots  must  have  cost 
their  owner  not  a  sou  less  than  one  hundred  dol- 
lars— which  was  going  rather  strong  for  one  of 
Uncle  Sam's  nurses.  He  was  lounging  on  a  bench 
in  front  of  his  sleeping  cabin  which  faced,  at  a 
distance  of  perhaps  fifty  feet,  the  cabins  of  Miss 
Tauser  and  Miss  King.  Celia,  who  had  turned  her 
face  to  speak  to  Miss  Tauser  within  the  tatter's 
cabin,  was  bareheaded,  but  a  quirt  dangled  from 
her  wrist,  and  she  carried  a  book  in  her  hand. 

She  had  the  Anglo-Saxon  gallant  slenderness  of 
body,  like  the  slim  gracious  curve  of  an  infolded 
bud,  so  different  from  the  opulent  charms  of  the 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  63 

Latin  race.  As  she  stood,  in  that  crystal-clear 
mountain  air,  bathed  in  the  sun's  warm  ruddy 
beams  which  appeared  to  linger  and  become  en- 
meshed in  the  golden  mazes  of  her  hair,  it  seemed 
to  Sloane  as  if  she  were  compounded,  not  of  ordi- 
nary flesh  and  blood,  but  of  pure  dazzling  sunshine, 
concentrated  and  shaped  into  the  form  of  a  girl. 

She  finished  her  conversation  and  turned,  and 
Sloane,  who  had  awaited  this  moment  for  two 
weeks,  stood  up  and  looked  at  her,  but  without  a 
smile. 


CHAPTER  SEVEN 

AND  then  Celia  saw  him. 

Their  eyes,  intent,  serious  with  the  tremendous 
seriousness  of  youth,  encountered,  held  for  a  long 
beating  moment,  and  then  the  girl  shifted  her  gaze 
to  the  encircling  mountains,  stark  granite  shafts 
and  peaks  and  pinnacles,  painted  with  the  first 
snow  of  the  season. 

"  How  gorgeous !  "  she  breathed. 

"  Not  any  more  gorgeous  than  they  have  been 
for  the  last  two  weeks,"  said  Pinkney  with  ex- 
treme dryness.  "  You  haven't  looked — that's 
all." 

She  laughed  and  blushed  at  the  accusation. 

"  I've  had  a  lot  of  things  to  occupy  my  mind," 
she  murmured  defensively. 

"  I  thought  you  were  shell-shocked." 

"Perhaps  I  was — a  little." 

She  threw  back  her  head  to  take  in  once  more 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  65 

the  lonely  brooding  splendour  of  that  mighty  ram- 
part of  stone. 

"  I  concluded  you  didn't  care  for  mountains," 
said  Sloane,  still  harping  on  his  grievance. 

"  I  love  them,"  she  declared  enthusiastically. 

"  I  love  them  too,"  said  he. 

Why  was  it  that,  with  the  introduction  of  that 
innocent  little  winged  word  of  four  letters,  a  sud- 
den silence  fell — a  silence  which  Sloane,  a  certain 
intentness  in  his  grey  eyes,  employed  to  stare  in- 
dustriously at  the  girl,  who  with  lifted  chin  and 
the  faintest  shadow  of  a  smile  curving  her  lips, 
studied  the  distant  snow-capped  peaks. 

She  stirred  finally  under  his  straight  gaze,  and 
said,  pensively: 

"  I  wish  I  didn't  have  to  leave  so  soon." 

"Do  you?" 

"  Yes." 

"Why?" 

"  Because " 

"  Because  what  ?  " 

She  brought  down  her  eyes  from  the  mountains 
at  this,  encountered  the  young  man's  with  a  lumi- 


66  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

nous  flash  in  them,  glanced  away  and  said  with 
casual  lightness: 

"  Oh,  well,  there's  my  nursing  for  one  thing. 
And  there  are  others "  She  hung  for  a  mo- 
ment, brooding. 

"  My   father  wants  me  to  do  something " 

She  broke  off,  and  then  continued  with  a  sudden 
vehement  rush :  "  My  father  wants  me  to  do  some- 
thing I  won't  do,  and  he — he's  trying  to  bully  me. 
He's  trying  to  break  my  will.  He  wants  me — he 
wants  everybody — to  get  down  on  their  knees. 
He's  not  content  until  everybody  submits  absolutely 
to  his  will.  It — it's  horrible — grotesque.  And  I 
won't."  She  finished  breathlessly,  and  stood  frown- 
ing at  him  with  her  Maid  of  Verdun  face,  as  if  she 
visualised  her  father  standing  before  her.  "  I 
won't,"  she  declared  again. 

"  Rather  not,"  replied  Sloane,  deeply  interested. 
"  Don't  give  up  the  ship." 

She  was  so  confoundedly  pretty  when  she  flared 
up  like  that,  glowing  and  paling  like  a  flame  blown 
on  by  the  wind,  that  he  groped  for  the  right  word 
which  should  continue  the  delightful  performance. 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  67 

"  What  does  your  father  want  you  to  do  ?  " 

It  was  the  wrong  question.  Celia  came  to  her- 
self abruptly,  frowned,  then  laughed  and  said: 

"  Nothing — much.  Something  that's  impossible. 
It  doesn't  matter  except  that .  Well,  it  ex- 
plains why  I've  been  so  blind  to  all  this."  She 
waved  a  hand  at  the  glowing  landscape.  "  And 
now  I've  decided  and  I'm  going  away." 

She  turned,  but  looked  back  laughingly  over  her 
shoulder  and  murmured,  "  Good-bye." 

He  watched  her  walk  over  to  the  pony,  which, 
saddled,  its  reins  flung  loosely  over  its  head,  was 
nosing  among  a  heap  of  freshly  felled  pine  logs. 
It  raised  its  head  at  her  approach,  nickered  softly, 
and  sniffed  at  her  pocket  for  the  customary  sugar- 
lump. 

Pinkney  took  two  steps  forward  and  then  stood 
stock  still  in  his  tracks.  But  he  did  not  take  his 
eyes  from  Celia,  who  was  bending  over  the  pony's 
head  and  uttering  soft  little  love-sounds  to  the 
effect  that  if  a  silly  Honeyboy  would  look  in  her 
right  coat-pocket  he  would  find  a  sugar-lump  with 
his  initials  inscribed  thereon.  It  was  a  language 


68  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

which  the  animal  seemed  to  comprehend,  for  he 
cocked  a  sage  ear,  immediately  withdrew  his  nose 
from  her  left  coat-pocket,  thrust  it  into  her  right, 
and  emerged  with  the  sweet  morsel  between  his  lips. 
Beholding  this  performance,  Pinkney  took  another 
involuntary  pace  forward,  and  then — very  firmly — 
three  paces  to  the  rear,  and  reseated  himself  upon 
his  bench. 

Celia  transferred  her  book  to  the  saddle-bag. 
She  caressed  Honeyboy,  rubbed  her  soft  cheek 
against  his  nose,  tickled  his  ear  by  breathing  into  it, 
and  with  meticulous  attention  removed  a  burr,  a 
nasty,  prickly  cockleburr,  from  his  frowsy  matted 
bang.  She  then  bethought  herself  that  one  of  these 
wicked  prickly  burrs  might  be  under  her  saddle 
blanket  and  press  into  her  Honeyboy's  tender  flesh 
when  she  mounted,  so  she  lifted  one  flap  after  an- 
other, and  ran  her  hand  along  the  underside  of  the 
blanket.  No  prickly  cockleburr  materialised.  The 
pony  nickered  his  contentment  at  all  this  sweet 
solicitude  on  his  behalf,  and  the  young  man  con- 
tinued to  stare. 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  69 

Having  disposed  of  the  imaginary  burr,  Celia 
decided  that  her  stirrups  were  too  short;  she  let 
them  out  a  notch.  And  now  all  was  ready.  She 
grasped  Honey  boy's  mane,  placed  one  of  the  gleam- 
ing petits  amours  in  the  stirrup  and  was  about  to 
swing  herself  lightly  up,  when  she  heard  a  slight 
exhalation.  It  sounded  like  a  sigh.  Was  it  Honey- 
boy,  who,  in  his  lazy  heart  of  hearts,  despite  sugar- 
lumps,  did  not  love  strenuous  girls  ? 

Arrested,  Celia  brought  down  her  foot  from  the 
stirrup,  looked  inquiringly  at  the  pony  who  lazily 
winked  one  eye;  looked  up  at  the  clear  pale  sky 
overhead,  where  hung  a  hawk,  motionless,  immo- 
bile, as  if  suspended  by  an  invisible  wire;  looked 
around  at  the  silent  encircling  hills,  and  so,  com- 
pleting the  circuit,  let  her  glance  come  to  rest  upon 
Sloane,  who  was  sitting  bent  forward  in  the  attitude 
made  famous  by  a  certain  pugilist,  jutting  jaw 
thrust  out,  and  a  clenched  fist  resting  on  either  knee. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  murmured,  "it's  almost  too 
hot  to  ride  to-day ! " 

This  was  practically  unconditional  surrender,  and 


70  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

he  bit  his  lip  to  conceal  a  triumphant  smile.  He 
stood  up  and  said,  "  What  is  that  book  I  saw  you 
tucking  away?" 

Celia  extracted  it  from  the  saddle-bag.  "  It's 
Homer,"  she  said. 

"Homer!  Isn't  that  pretty  stiff  stuff— for  a 
girl?" 

"  I  expect  you  don't  know  much  about  girls," 
observed  Celia  with  a  coolness  that  brought  the 
blood  to  his  cheek. 

"  That's  right — I  don't  know  a  single  thing,"  he 
replied,  while  to  Honeyboy  he  made  a  secret  gesture 
in  the  direction  of  his  pocket  which  indicated  to 
that  intelligent  beast  that  girls  were  not  the  sole 
repositories  of  delectable  sugar  lumps.  Honeyboy 
cocked  an  enquiring  ear  and  Sloane  nodded  his  head 
and  repeated  the  sign.  Celia,  her  nose  deep  in  her 
book,  appeared  to  search  for  a  certain  passage. 
The  pony,  dragging  his  reins,  ambled  over  to  the 
man's  side,  and  the  girl  absent-mindedly  strolled 
beside.  Honeyboy  nosed  in  first  one  pocket  and 
then  another,  found  no  faintest  sign  of  sweetness 
but  only  an  acrid  tobacco  smell,  fixed  his  deceiver 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  71 

with  a  mild  reproachful  eye,  received  a  jovial  whack 
on  the  flank,  and  amiably  roamed  away.  So  Pink- 
ney  brought  the  mountain  to  Mahomet  without  ever 
budging  from  where  he  stood. 

After  this,  all  was  plain  sailing.  Celia  still 
searched  in  her  book.  "  An  old  friend  gave  this 
to  me,"  she  explained.  "  He  told  me  that  Homer 
had  said  everything  about  this  war  three  thousand 
years  ago." 

"  That  listens  well,"  he  observed  briefly.  "  But 
it's  damned  silly  rot.  Nobody  ever  said  it  all  about 
anything,  or  ever  will.  Do  you  like  poetry?  " 

"Some.     Don't  you?" 

"  Rather.     I've  taught  it,  you  see." 

That  brought  Celia's  eyes  out  of  her  book,  con- 
sternation in  their  blue  depths.  "  You — you're  a 
teacher?"  she  faltered. 

"  Doesn't  think  much  of  teachers,"  he  commented 
grimly  to  himself.  "  Thinks  I'm  one  of  those 
earnest  asses  that  hand  out  recipes  on  life."  Aloud, 
he  said,  "Yes.  Teacher  in  English  Lit.  Taught 
last  winter  in  a  boys'  school.  I  had  some  work  I 
wanted  to  do  nights — an  invention.  But  I  had  to 


72  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

have  some  money  to  cover  my  expenses  until  I  got 
this  other  thing  going — and  so  I  took  that.  Tem- 
porary job.  Not  my  real  line.  Yes,  I  like  poetry 
— in  its  place."  He  paused  and  continued  rather 
eagerly,  "  Do  you  know  that  thing  of  Masefield, 
'  The  Dauber '  ?  " 

"No." 

"  I'd  like  to  read  it  to  you  this  afternoon." 

"  That,"  murmured  Celia  with  a  faint  smile,  keep- 
ing her  eyes  carefully  lowered,  "  would  be  rather 
nice." 

He  dived  into  his  cabin  and  reappeared  with  the 
book  and  a  steamer  rug.  "  I  thought  of  that  pine 
tree — over  by  the  river.  There  we  have  a  straight 
sweep  right  up  to  the  mountain-peaks — if  you  don't 
mind  the  sun?" 

Celia  did  not  mind  the  sun.  Silently  they  walked 
over  to  the  tree — both  slim,  supple,  and  sublimely 
self-poised;  both  in  their  twenties,  yet  veterans  of 
a  world-war — a  radiant,  high-flying  pair. 

In  his  exalted  mood  of  expectation,  Pinkney  con- 
sumed ten  precious  minutes  before  he  could  discover 
a  suitable  spot  to  spread  his  rug.  He  even  got 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  73 

down  on  his  hands  and  knees  to  clear  the  ground 
of  sticks  and  stones,  while  Celia  leaned  against  the 
tree,  a  tall  glowing  girl,  head  thrown  back,  her 
dreaming  gaze  fixed  on  the  mighty  rampart  of  hills. 
Presently  all  was  arranged,  she  sat,  Sloane  stretched 
himself  at  her  feet,  his  blonde  head  reasonably  close 
to  the  petits  amours,  the  mountains  at  his  back, 
opened  his  book,  and  dived  abruptly  into  the  busi- 
ness of  the  day. 

"  You  know,  I'm  crazy  about  this  piece.  Maybe 
it's  because  it's  about  the  sea.  I  love  the  sea.  My 
father  was  a  sea-captain,  and  when  he  was  twenty- 
two  he  owned  his  own  sailing-vessel  and  cruised  in 
the  South  Seas.  He  lost  his  ship  when  he  was  my 
age — twenty-six.  It  foundered  in  a  gale  and  stove 
to  pieces  on  a  coral  reef.  My  father  and  most  of 
the  crew  were  washed  ashore.  They  said  he  lay 
on  the  beach  three  days  and  three  nights,  watching 
that  ship  break  up,  and  crying  like  a  child.  They 
couldn't  budge  him  from  the  spot.  And  when 
finally  she  went  down  my  father  swore  an  oath 
he'd  never  own  another  vessel  to  break  his  heart. 
He  never  did.  He  left  the  sea.  You  see,  he  loved 


74  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

that  ship  the  way  a  man  loves  a  woman.  Can  you 
understand  a  man  caring  like  that?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  So  can  I,"  said  Sloane,  with  fine  relish. 
"  That's  the  only  way  to  love.  Don't  you  think 
so?" 

"  Certainly — are  you  going  to  read  ?  " 

"  Oui,  mademoiselle."  He  laughed  and  reddened. 
"  That  was  the  preface — introduction  by  Pinkney 
Sloane — to  get  you  into  the  mood.  Shall  I  let  her 
rip?" 

She  nodded  and  he  began  to  read.  He  read 
without  a  break  for  half  an  hour.  The  hot  after- 
noon sun  streamed  over  them,  bathing  them  and 
all  the  world  in  a  tranquil  glory;  above  and  around 
them  was  the  tiny  droning  hum  of  insects;  and  from 
afar  came  the  soft  liquid  complaint  of  a  wood-dove. 
Not  a  breath  of  air  stirred.  All  nature  seemed  at 
the  pitch  of  still,  burning  perfection.  And  Pink- 
ney, feeling  the  warm  sun  on  his  back  through  his 
flannel  shirt,  intensely  aware  of  Celia's  nearness, 
of  the  painted  mountain  peaks,  and  all  the  great, 
live  magically  thrilling  world  about  him,  read  those 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  75 

bleak,  beautiful  lines  of  raging  sombre  seas  and 
cruel  men  with  keenest  delight,  revelling  in  the  con- 
trast; narrowing  his  eyes  as  he  visualised  the  wild, 
boiling,  writhing  white  seas,  and  the  Dauber,  jeered 
by  his  mates,  clutching  with  frozen  fingers  to  the 
rigging. 

And  presently,  overwhelmed  by  the  stern  dark 
beauty  of  it  all,  he  looked  up  to  share  his  fine  emo- 
tion with  Celia. 

"  It's  magnificent,  isn't "  He  stopped,  trans- 
fixed, his  eyes  dilating  in  horrid  astonishment. 

Celia  was  fast  asleep! 

Thus  ended  the  first  day. 


CHAPTER  EIGHT 

THE  second  day  he  unfolded  to  Celia  his  scheme 
for  raising  ships.  But  first  he  made  her  apologise 
for  going  to  sleep;  for  he  argued  that  if  she  went 
to  sleep  on  him  like  that  the  first  day  of  their 
acquaintance,  what  on  earth  could  he  expect  of  her 
after  they  were  married  ten  years?  It  was  there- 
fore necessary  to  nip  that  bad  habit  in  the  bud  while 
it  was  a-budding.  And  this  he  did,  characteristic- 
ally. He  tip-toed  away  that  afternoon,  leaving  her 
asleep  under  the  tree.  That  night  he  absented  him- 
self from  dinner;  the  next  morning  he  absented 
himself  from  breakfast;  and  he  absented  himself 
from  the  midday  meal.  He  ate  in  solitary  confine- 
ment in  his  cabin  and  wrote  things  in  a  shabby  little 
black  notebook. 

In  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  Celia  came  tapping 
at  his  door,  apologised,  and  Pinkney  handsomely 
forgave  her — but  he  permitted  her  to  see  that  he 

was  a  magnanimous  man. 

76 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  77 

"Aren't  you  hungry?"  she  demanded. 
"No. 

'The  thirst  that  from  the  soul  doth  rise, 
Doth  ask  a  drink  divine/  ' 

he  quoted,  laughing.  "  I  beg  pardon.  I  forgot 
you  don't  care  for  poetry.  That's  old  Ben  Jonson. 
He  wrote  it  to  a  girl  called  Celia — in  the  sixteenth 
century.  Do  you  suppose  she  went  to  sleep  on 
Ben?" 

Celia  looked  at  him  without  speaking,  a  spark  in 
her  blue  eyes.  He  decided  not  to  rub  it  in. 

"  See  here,  Miss  King,"  he  said  soberly.  "  I 
want  to  talk  to  you — awfully.  About  my  work. 
I'd  like  to  tell  you  the  whole  scheme — see  how  it 
strikes  you.  Do  you  suppose  you  could  endure 
another  afternoon — without  going  to  sleep?" 

They  looked  at  each  other  and  laughed. 

Love,  that  mystery  of  the  fourth  dimension,  takes 
its  victims  in  diverse  fashions.  Some  it  steeps  in 
melancholy;  some  in  insane  jealousy;  some  in  awful 
solemnity  or  ineffable  conceit.  Sloane,  it  inocu- 
lated with  mirth.  Laughter  welled  up  from  some 


78  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

bright  and  hitherto  unplumbed  fountain  in  the  sec- 
ret depths  of  his  being;  it  ran  over  him  in  living 
ripples  of  gaiety,  and  bubbled  from  his  lips  in 
nonsensical  nothings  and  absurd  crude  rhymes. 

The  second  day,  for  reasons  of  his  own,  he  led 
Celia  to  the  selfsame  pine  tree  under  which  she  had 
slumbered  the  day  before.  And  Celia,  also  for 
reasons  of  her  own,  had  discarded  her  knickers  and 
petits  amours  for  slippers  and  a  gown  of  soft  gray- 
ish, pinkish  mauve,  delicate  as  the  gossamer  mists, 
shot  through  by  the  final  rays  of  the  sun,  which 
floated  down  the  valley  in  the  twilight.  This  time 
Pinkney  had  brought  with  him,  not  poetry,  but  a 
quantity  of  papers,  figures,  and  water-colour  charts. 

"  I'm  going  to  lay  this  whole  proposition  before 
you  just  like  a  deck  of  cards,"  he  began,  "  and  when 
I  get  through,  I'd  like  you  to  tell  me  exactly  what 
you  think.  In  a  nutshell,  my  scheme  centres  round 
a  new  method  for  raising  ships — sunken  ships.  It 
is  my  own  idea,  and  the  instruments  are  my  own 
inventions.  You  remember  I  told  you  yesterday 
about  my  father,  the  sea-captain?  Well,  after  he 
told  me  of  losing  that  vessel  of  his,  I  got  to  dream- 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  79 

ing,  as  kids  will,  about  that  foundered  ship  down 
at  the  bottom  of  the  sea.  And  that  started  me  off 
on  all  the  rest  of  the  lost  ships  that  must  be  down 
beneath  the  waves.  I  saw  them  as  plain  as  day- 
light, all  kinds  of  craft — packets,  and  slavers,  and 
coasters  and  clippers,  big  fore-and-aft,  and  three- 
masted  schooners,  great  steamers  of  the  line,  little 
trawlers  and  smacks,  lying  keeled  over  on  the  floor 
of  the  sea — I  figured  that  floor  as  a  kind  of  wet, 
sloppy,  sea-weedy  beach — or  imbedded  deep  in  the 
sand,  while  sharks  swam  in  and  out  of  the  port- 
holes. I  used  to  dream  about  those  ships  and  wish 
I  was  a  shark  down  there!  And  I  suppose  I  drew 
a  thousand  pictures  of  my  father's  ship,  which  he 
told  me  had  lifted  suddenly  and  gone  down  by  the 
head.  Here's  one — done  when  I  was  nine." 

The  picture,  drawn  with  a  heavy  downright  pencil 
on  cheap,  blue-ruled  exercise-paper,  represented  a 
two-masted  schooner,  rigged  fore  and  aft,  capsized, 
and  impaled  by  its  mainmast  on  the  bottom  of  the 
sea.  Amidships  in  the  hull,  was  a  squat  figure 
lying  stiffly  asprawl,  with  bubbles  ascending  dramat- 
ically from  its  mouth,  to  indicate  it  was  being 


8o  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

drowned.  Beneath,  in  scraggly  capitals,  was  the 
legend : 

"  Schooner  ISABEL.  Commanded  by  Captain 
J.  A.  Sloane.  Foundered  in  a  gale  off  the  Solomon 
Isles,  and  all  the  crew  saved  but  Joe,  the  cook,  who 
was  below  in  the  galley,  soused." 

Celia  studied  it,  smiling,  her  bright  head  bent. 

"  Well,"  he  continued,  "  all  that  was  crude,  raw, 
kid-stuff.  Dreams.  But  it  was  the  kick-off — my 
father's  wrecked  ship.  So  I  decided  I'd  salvage 
ships.  And  pretty  early  in  the  game  I  decided  that 
this  whole  business  of  raising  ships  had  to  be  sim- 
plified. It  was  too  complicated,  old-fashioned,  and 
expensive.  The  cost  of  raising  a  ship  ate  up  most 
of  the  profits,  so  that  in  the  majority  of  cases  it 
wasn't  worth  while. 

"  So  what  I  went  after  was  some  apparatus  that 
was  simple,  effective,  and  cheap.  I  kept  hammer- 
ing away  on  my  experiments,  and  when  the  war 
broke  out  I  had  about  perfected  my  invention.  It's 
in  two  parts.  First,  I  invented  a  machine  to  burrow 
through  the  sand  under  the  ship  in  order  to  get 
lifting-cables  under  the  wreck.  Then  I  invented 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  81 

collapsible  balloons  that  I  attached  to  the  lifting 
cables  on  either  side  of  the  vessel.  When  they  are 
all  in  place,  the  wrecking-outfit  on  the  surface  be- 
gins to  pump  the  balloons  full  of  air,  and  as  they 
fill,  they  begin  to  exert  lifting-power  until  the  point 
is  reached  when  they  lift  more  weight  than  the 
ship.  And  then — up  she  comes!  Here  are  some 
drawings  to  show  exactly  how  it  is  done." 

Celia  looked,  questioned  and  listened  while  he 
explained  every  detail. 

"  It's  all  very  wonderful,"  she  breathed  at  last. 
"  And  so  simple  I  wonder  somebody  didn't  think 

of  it  long  ago.  But "  She  stopped,  blushing 

brightly. 

"But  what?"  he  urged.     "Go  on.     Shoot." 

"  Does — does  it  work  ?  " 

He  smiled  tolerantly. 

"  I'm  coming  to  that — presently.  But  first  I 
wanted  you  to  get  hold  of  the  two  main  ideas. 
They're  both  patented,  of  course.  I  was  just  on 
the  point  of  forming  a  company  when  the  war  came 
and  knocked  me  flat.  I  was  gassed,  had  pneu- 
monia and  influenza,  and  came  home  sick  and  dead 


82  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

broke.  I  was  offered  the  chance  to  teach  literature 
in  a  boys'  private  school.  As  it  was  an  easy  job — 
after  what  I'd  been  through  it  seemed  like  heaven — 
and  gave  me  spare  time  to  work  on  my  scheme,  I 
grabbed  it  with  both  hands. 

"After  I'd  saved  up  a  bit,  though,  I  cut  loose, 
went  to  New  York,  and  made  some  proposals  to  the 
biggest  marine  insurance  company  in  the  city. 
They  investigated  the  matter  thoroughly,  and 
finally  offered  to  buy  my  inventions  outright.  But 
Gilmore,  the  president  of  the  company,  took  a  fancy 
to  me,  and  he  advised  me  privately  not  to  sell  out, 
but  to  go  ahead  and  form  an  independent  company, 
and  he'd  back  me  with  his  influence  and  some  cash. 
Which  he  did. 

"  I  started  the  Sloane  Salvage  Company,  and  Gil- 
more  bought  ten  thousand  shares  of  stock  at  a  dollar 
a  share.  I'll  tell  you,  Celia  " — the  name  dropped 
unconsciously,  "  the  day  I  received  the  letter  con- 
taining that  check  I  felt  proud  as  the  Iron  Duke 
when  he  received  the  news  of  the  victory  at  Water- 
loo. For  Gilmore  has  a  business  head  hard  enough 
to  break  the  tablets  of  stone.  And  I  knew  if  I 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  83 

could  swing  him,  I  could  swing  all  the  rest.  He'd 
sent  experts  and  practical  wreckers  down  to  my 
office,  and  I'd  explained  and  demonstrated  my  ap- 
pliances thirteen  ways  from  the  ace.  When  he  was 
convinced,  he  sent  out  letters  to  all  his  marine  in- 
surance companies  strongly  recommending  me  and 
asking  them  to  throw  wrecking  jobs  my  way.  Well, 
after  that,  of  course,  things  began  to  drift  in  my 
direction. 

"  Gilmore  interested  a  few  of  his  banker  friends 
in  me.  They  sent  around  financial  agents  and  in- 
vestigated me  all  over  again.  One  or  two  of  the 
brokerage  firms,  undoubtedly  tipped  off  by  Gilmore, 
suggested  my  stock  to  their  clients  as  a  good  gamble 
— and  I  chopped  loose  a  few  more  thousands  from 
them.  Of  course,  it  was  Gilmore's  weight  and 
Gilmore's  high  standing  in  the  marine  mercantile 
world  that  has  given  me  my  start.  I  realise  that. 
Without  his  help,  I'd  be  like  one  of  my  own  deflated 
pontoons.  But  he  believed  in  me,  and  he's  made 
other  men  believe.  So  that  part  of  the  struggle  is 
done. 

"  Now  I  have  a  small  plant  that  can  turn  out  a 


84  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

dozen  or  so  pontoons  a  week,  and  some  old  deep-sea 
salts  to  cut  and  sew  the  canvas  and  splice  the  ropes 
for  the  balloons.  And  every  man-jack  of  them  has 
invested  money  in  the  concern!  Of  course,  all 
that's  only  a  drop  in  the  bucket,  financially,  but  it's 
their  faith  in  me  that  counts.  I've  paid  cash  for 
everything  as  I've  gone  along  and  I  don't  owe  a 
man  a  cent. 

"  Last  month  I  came  to  the  parting  of  the  ways. 
It  was  like  this.  I  could  go  limping  along  in- 
definitely, selling  off  a  small  block  of  stock  now  and 
then  as  my  expenses  required;  or  I  could  do  as 
Gilmore  advised,  borrow  a  big  lump  sum,  shove  on 
full  speed  ahead  in  my  factory,  raise  a  ship  this 
autumn,  and  demonstrate  to  all  the  world  what  the 
Sloane  Salvage  Company  can  do.  After  that,  if 
it's  successful,  orders  will  flow  in.  In  fact,  I've 
got  some  little  beauties  in  my  order-book  right  now. 
The  stock  will  jump  five,  ten,  twenty  points  inside 
of  a  year.  After  that — all  aboard  the  millionaire 
express ! 

"  Gilmore  has  some  big  ideas  of  starting  sister- 
companies  in  London  and  Peking — I  won't  go  into 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  85 

all  that  just  now.  But  what  I  want  to  ask  you  is 
this :  Shall  I  take  the  long  slow  road,  continuing  as 
a  one-horse  concern  and  keeping  the  whole  business 
under  my  own  hat,  so  to  speak — or  shall  I  take  the 
short  cut,  and  borrow  as  Gilmore  suggests?  What 
do  you  say  ?  " 

Celia,  looking  up  into  his  glowing  eyes,  perceived 
that  he  had  already  made  his  decision,  and,  man- 
like, wanted  from  her,  not  criticism,  but  confirma- 
tion, applause.  Nevertheless,  she  brooded  so  long, 
her  gaze  fixed  straight  ahead,  that  at  length  he 
stirred  restlessly,  and  exclaimed,  half -humorously, 
half -aggrieved : 

"Well— Miss  Sceptic!  What  is  it?  Am  I  a 
fraud?  You're  harder  to  convert  than  Gilmore." 

But  still  Celia  brooded.  At  length  she  brought 
her  gaze  down  from  the  distant  peaks;  her  serious 
eyes  lit  full  upon  him;  they  were  filled  with  soft 
latent  fire.  For  the  first  time  in  her  young  life  she 
was  setting  her  own  will  absolutely  aside  and  try- 
ing to  think  what  was  good  for  this  man. 

"  It's  all  so  wonderful,"  she  breathed  at  last, 
"  that  I  can  scarcely  take  it  in.  Give  me  time.  To 


86  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

think  it  all  started  from  this ! "  She  gazed  down 
at  the  crude,  boyish  sketch  of  the  schooner  Isabel 
which  she  still  held  in  her  hand.  "  It's  like  coming 
to  the  end  of  a  long  pilgrimage."  She  paused,  then 
continued  hesitatingly,  "  But  if  you  borrow,  won't 
you  have  to  meet  a  lot  of  tests  ?  " 

"  I've  met  all  those  tests,"  he  returned  proudly. 

"  And  you'd  probably  have  to  borrow  the  money 
from  some  bank  ?  " 

"  Yes — but  not  directly.  I'm  leaving  somebody 
else  to  negotiate  the  loan.  Somebody  who  knows 
the  financial  game  and  can  make  good  terms  for 
me.  For  I'm  going  to  keep  the  control.  Don't 
you  think  I  am  right?" 

"  Of  course.  It's  your  idea."  A  smile  hovered 
about  her  mouth  as  she  contemplated  his  square 
jaw.  "  But  I  can't  conceive  anybody  overriding 
you." 

"  They'd  better  not  try."  He  laughed,  and  added 
soberly,  "  Though  I've  had  my  black  days.  Days 
when  I'd  have  sold  out,  lock,  stock,  and  barrel,  dol- 
lar for  dollar  of  what  I'd  put  in.  For  there  are 
days,  when  the  idea  is  still  half  in  and  half  out  of 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  87 

your  head,  that  torture  and  torment  you  and 
stretch  you  on  the  rack ;  days  when  details  go  wrong 
or  when  you  run  short  of  cash  and  you  go  without 
your  supper  or  hock  your  overcoat  in  order  to  pay 
a  bill;  days  when  all  the  world  seems  to  mock  at 
you  for  a  crazy  dreamer  and  you  wonder  why  in 
God's  name  you  keep  on  hanging  on.  It's  not  any 
one  thing  in  particular  that  overrides  you  then;  it's 
bitter  stark  reality — it's  life  itself.  And  it's  only 
a  kind  of  damned  black  fighting  obstinacy  that  car- 
ries you  through.  That's  one  reason  I  won't  let 
the  control  of  this  company  out  of  my  hands.  I've 
fought  for  it  and  it's  mine." 

Their  eyes  met;  a  sudden  luminous  flash  passed 
between  them.  Celia,  with  heightened  colour, 
glanced  away. 

"  But  won't  the  banks,  if  they  lend  you  money, 
want  a  controlling  interest  ?  "  she  demanded  after 
a  pause. 

"  They  may  want — but  they  won't  get.  They 
can't  force  me  to  accept  their  terms.  I  can  still 
plug  along  with  my  one-horse  show." 

"  I  wish  you  would  do  just  that !  "  she  murmured 


88  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

in  a  low  voice.  "  When  I  think  of  the  others,  I — 
I  have  a  sinking  of  the  heart.  What  do  you  know 
about — about  the  financial  game?  "  She  was  think- 
ing of  her  father,  and  her  eyes  darkened.  "  Why, 
they  could  swallow  you  alive — and  you'd  never 
know!  Why  don't  you  continue  as  you've  begun, 
and  keep  everything,  as  you  said,  under  your  own 
hat?" 

"Why  don't  I?"  he  laughed.  "Because  I've 
got  a  speed-streak,  a  get-rich-quick  streak  in  me — 
just  like  all  Americans.  Why  does  everybody  ride 
in  flivvers  these  days,  instead  of  going  afoot  or 
plugging  along  lazily  behind  the  old  grey  mare? 
Because  they  want  to  get  there  faster.  Get  where  ? 
They  don't  know — and  don't  care !  They've  caught 
the  speed-bug.  Well,  so  have  I.  I  want  to  get 
there,  and  get  there  as  fast  as  I  can.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,"  he  continued  seriously,  "  there's  no  more 
intrinsic  risk  in  the  flight  of  a  swallow  than  there 
is  in  the  pace  of  a  snail;  it's  simply  a  case  of  being 
fitted  for  what  you  intend  to  do.  And  in  this 
company  of  mine,  the  whole  question  boils  down  to 
one  thing:  either  it's  a  sound  financial  risk — or  it's 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  89 

not.  If  it's  good,  I  can  as  readily  borrow  fifty 
thousand  dollars  as  I  can  five.  Well,  it's  already 
been  decided  that  I'm  a  good  risk,  and  it's  been 
decided  by  a  firm  whose  word  goes  with  any  bank 
in  the  country — the  firm  of  Klaggett  King." 


CHAPTER  NINE 

SLOANE,  busily  engaged  in  restoring  the  drawings 
and  maps  to  his  portfolio,  did  not  mark  Celia's 
great  start,  nor  the  sudden  silence  which  fell  upon 
his  remark. 

Perfectly  white,  she  stared  at  him  with  wide, 
dilated  eyes.  This  new  complication  knocked  her 
flat  To  be  sure,  she  had  never  denied  that  she 
was  the  daughter  of  KJaggett  King,  but  neither  had 
she  affirmed  the  fact.  To  the  Hunters  she  had 
simply  been  Miss  King,  professional  nurse.  Her 
social  background,  who  she  was  or  where  she  came 
from,  she  argued,  had  nothing  to  do  with  her  job; 
and  hitherto,  with  considerable  satisfaction  not 
altogether  free  from  youthful  romance,  she  had 
managed  to  keep  the  two  in  separate  water-tight 
compartments — and  she  meant  to  continue  doing  so. 
It  was  not  her  intention  that  Pinkney  Sloane  should 
know  that  she  was  the  daughter  of  Klaggett  King; 

90 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  91 

at  any  rate,  not  at  present.  Just  why  she  was  con- 
cealing that  fact  she  scarcely  knew,  save  that  she 
desired  intensely  to  be  herself,  and  she  clung,  with 
a  kind  of  high  fierce  seriousness  at  which  Lucinda 
would  have  laughed,  to  an  identity  which  she  had 
created  by  herself.  She  had  made  herself  a  nurse, 
just  as  Pinkney  Sloane  had  made  his  inventions; 
and  she  had  made  good,  even  as  he  had.  Well, 
then,  she  had  a  right  to  control  her  identity,  which 
she  had  created,  just  as  he  had  a  right  to  control  the 
business  which  he  had  created  out  of  his  own  head. 
And  her  identity  required,  so  it  seemed  to  her  in 
that  flashing  minute,  that  he  should  not  know  her 
relationship  to  Klaggett  King.  To  tell  him  right 

now,  just  when  everything No,  no,  it  was 

impossible Things  must  be  kept  simple 

At  least  until  after 

Thoughts  like  these  went  streaking  like  bright 
fireflies  through  the  confusion  of  her  mind,  as  she 
sat,  hands  clasped  tightly  in  her  lap,  and  stared 
hard  at  the  westering  sun  which  was  bathing  all  the 
land  in  its  languid  glory.  Not  Klaggett  King's 
own  chin  was  squarer  than  his  daughter's  in  this 


92  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

beating  moment  of  decision;  it  fairly  jutted  with 
determination. 

"  Klaggett  King,"  Sloane  continued,  all  uncon- 
sciously, "  is  a  big  man.  I  don't  like  him.  For 
that  matter,  he  doesn't  like  me.  But  I  can  see  he  is 
big."  He  glanced  up  with  a  sudden  laugh :  "  He's 
not  by  any  chance  related  to  you?  " 

By  this  time  she  had  herself  in  hand. 

"  He  might  be,"  she  parried  coolly.  "  The  King 
family  in  America  is  a  fairly  large  connection, 
though.  Tell  me  about  your  Klaggett  King,  and 
I'll  claim  him  if  he's  nice." 

"  Nice — that's  a  regular  girl-word !  "  he  jeered. 
"  No,  I  wouldn't  say  '  nice  '  was  the  word  to  describe 
Klaggett  King.  He's  tall  and  black  and  emaciated, 
with  a  big  heavy  nose,  a  wide  mouth  that  twists 
off  to  one  side,  and  deep  burning  eyes  which  are 
always  slightly  bloodshot.  I've  seen  eyes  like  that 
on  our  men  up  on  the  line  when  they  were  exhausted 
and  couldn't  sleep.  I  can't  explain  it  except  by 
saying  that  they're  violent  eyes — and  yet  sort  of 
agonised.  No  matter  what  he  says,  and  he's  always 
cracking  some  sardonic  joke — he  has  a  humour  like 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  93 

a  two-edged  sword — you  always  go  back  to  that 
dark  little  flame  in  his  eye.  Gilmore  says  he's  the 
most  feared  man  in  Wall  Street." 

Celia  made  an  inarticulate  sound  in  her  throat. 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  borrow  any  money,"  she 
said,  steadying  her  voice  with  an  effort. 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,"  he  affirmed  easily.  "  It's 
all  arranged  now,  except  signing  the  agreement- 
papers." 

"  And  did  my  f — did  Mr.  King  treat  you  well  ?  " 

For  the  first  time  he  threw  her  a  sharp  glance. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  well  ?  "  he  retorted  gaily. 
"  Do  you  mean,  did  he  embrace  me  like  a  French- 
man and  kiss  me  on  both  cheeks?  He  did  not. 
King's  not  the  kissing  kind.  But  we  lunched  to- 
gether one  day.  He  wanted  to  take  my  measure, 
I  suppose.  And  when  he  shook  hands  with  me — 
it  was  the  first  time  we'd  met  face  to  face,  though 
we'd  spoken  over  the  telephone — he  said: 

'  Well,  young  man — so  this  is  you !  I've  heard 
big  things  about  you,  from  Gilmore.  He  seems  to 
think  the  shipping  in  the  Hudson  is  in  danger  from 
the  fires  of  your  great  intellect ! ' 


94  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

Sloane  grinned  ruefully. 

"  That's  the  kind  of  stuff  he  pulls.  He  carves 
your  head  straight  off  without  ever  batting  an  eye. 
Before  that  lunch  was  over  he'd  riddled  me  with 
questions,  and  he  knew  as  much  about  my  company 
as  I  did.  Then  we  took  a  whack  at  other  things — 
the  war,  peace,  industry,  destiny,  free  will — I  don't 
know  what  all.  He's  deep.  To  talk  with  him  is 
a  liberal  education — in  the  kind  of  a  man  I  wouldn't 
want  to  be." 

"Why?"  she  cried,  startled. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  confessed  frankly.  "  I 
haven't  got  his  formula.  Though  he  had  mine 
inside  of  the  first  half  hour!  I  think  he's  sick. 
Sick  in  his  head,  I  mean.  My  father  used  to  have 
a  saying :  '  Keep  your  head  cool  and  your  heart 
warm.'  I  suspect  Klaggett  King's  been  so  busy 
keeping  his  brain  on  ice  that  he's  achieved  a  refrig- 
erated heart.  But  I  may  be  wrong.  Anyhow,  it's 
not  my  affair." 

Celia  fought  an  obscure  sinking  of  the  heart. 

"  And  is  it  all  arranged  so  that  you  can't  with- 
'draw?"  she  pressed. 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  95 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  can  pull  out  any  time  right 
up  to  the  last  minute  when  I  set  my  signature  to 
the  agreement  terms.  But  I  don't  intend  to  pull 
out."  He  laughed,  nodding  reassuringly  at  her 
grave  clouded  face.  "  Neither  do  I  intend  to  fail." 

"Why  did  you  come  up  here?"  she  queried 
abruptly. 

"  I  blew  up,"  he  explained  with  a  short  laugh. 
"  Before  the  war  I  used  to  be  as  tough  as  pig-iron. 
I  could  stand  any  amount  of  stress.  But  since  I've 
been  gassed,  I  get  groggy  under  a  prolonged  strain. 
And  these  last  few  months  I've  been  working  about 
twenty-five  hours  out  of  the  twenty-four.  I've  been 
inventor  and  manager  and  sales-agent  and  publicity 
man,  all  rolled  into  one,  with  a  dozen  different  kinds 
of  troubles  pestering  me  at  once.  It  was  like  fight- 
ing a  swarm  of  man-eating  mosquitoes  that  are 
bound  to  have  your  blood;  you  slap  one  on  your 
wrist  and  the  next  second  you  feel  another  chewing 
off  your  right  ear. 

"  And  one  morning,  after  I'd  finished  with  Klag- 
gett  King's  men,  I  woke  up  and  decided  it  wasn't 
worth  while  getting  out  of  bed.  I  was  dog-tired. 


96  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

I  wanted  nothing  so  much  as  to  fade  right  out  of 
the  picture  and  stay  faded  for  a  couple  of  eons  or 
so." 

"  Were  you  alone  ?  " 

"The  alonest  man  on  the  face  of  the  globe!  I 
was  stopping  in  a  cheap  lodging  downtown,  in  a 
dreary,  drab  little  cell  of  a  bedroom  as  bleak  and 
pinched  as  a  miser's  soul. 

"There  was  a  coloured  maid,  Annie,  whom  I 
subsidised  to  bring  up  my  food.  I'd  peel  off  a 
dollar  bill  from  my  thin  wad,  hand  it  to  Annie,  and 
she'd  presently  return  with  a  chipped  soup-plate  of 
tepid  slop,  dotted  all  over  the  top  with  big  pale 
islands  of  grease  like  an  archipelago.  I  figured  that 
Annie  must  have  realised  about  a  thousand  percent 
net  profit  on  her  investment.  It  made  me  think 
that  what  Klaggett  King  once  said  about  life  being 
a  bear-pit  was  true.  For  I  knew  to  an  absolute 
dead  certainty  that  if  I  passed  in  my  checks  in  that 
horrible  frozen  little  cell,  Annie  would  frisk  my 
pants  for  my  wad  before  reporting  my  demise 
downstairs.  And  yet  Annie  was  a  pretty  good 
scout,  at  that — according  to  her  lights." 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  97 

"Don't!"  she  murmured  in  suffocated  tones. 
"  I — I  can't  bear  it !  To  think  of  you — alone — ill 
— in  that  ghastly  place." 

Her  hand  dropped  to  her  side  and  lit,  by  merest 
accident  on  his,  palm  downward,  soft  and  warm. 
In  a  flash  his  hand  turned  and  bade  the  newcomer 
welcome  to  the  city,  in  a  clasp  gentle  and  strong. 
But  their  eyes  avoided  encounter.  Pinkney's,  very 
wide  and  a  glowing  grey,  were  fastened  on  a  .distant 
pinnacle;  Celia's,  blue  as  a  hyacinth,  were  glued  to 
the  twin  peak. 

Down  in  the  floor  of  the  valley,  gathering  violet 
mists  were  beginning  to  contend  with  the  day;  but 
in  the  upper  sky  and  on  the  summits  of  the  moun- 
tains a  vivid  orange  glow  still  lingered  in  the  mag- 
ical air.  From  afar,  subdued  yet  poignant,  sounded 
the  liquid  lament  of  the  wood-dove. 

Still  accidentally  retaining  that  which  had  been 
accidentally  bestowed  on  him,  Pinkney  continued 
his  narrative.  But  now  he  stammered  ever  so 
slightly. 

"  I  didn't  bear  it  very  well,  either,"  said  he. 
"  And  finally,  one  day  I  staggered  down  the  stairs, 


98  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

light-headed  as  the  deuce,  and  found  my  way  to  a 
doctor.  He  informed  me  I'd  been  under  a  severe 
strain,  and  I  paid  him  five  dollars  for  the  news. 

"  Then  I  drifted  over  to  the  station,  climbed 
aboard  a  west-bound  train,  and  kept  on  going,  peer- 
ing out  of  the  window  every  now  and  again  to  see 
if  I  liked  the  looks  of  the  scenery  well  enough  to 
stop  off.  Finally,  I  came  to  this  wild,  scraggy 
country,  with  those  big  silent  sentinels  up  yonder 
keeping  watch  and  guard,  and  I  got  down  at  a 
station  and  negotiated  with  a  man  to  fetch  me 
here. 

"  At  first  I  thought  it  was  blind  chance  that 
landed  me  out  in  these  hills.  Then  you  came — and 
I  saw  that  the  Annies  of  this  world  are  all  a  part 
of  the  eternal  design.  For  the  last  time  she  brought 
up  the  soup,  she  upset  it,  grease  archipelago  and  all, 
and  baptised  me  in  bed.  After  she'd  gone,  I  flipped 
a  coin:  heads  to  kill  Annie,  tails  to  leave  town. 
Tails  won — and  now  I  know,  so  did  I.  And  when 
I  return,  I'm  going  to  make  her  a  gift." 

"  For  spilling  the  soup  in  your  bed  ?  " 

"  For  an  oblation  to  the  blind  gods.     Can't  you 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  99 

see  that  the  spilling  of  that  soup  in  my  bed  was  the 
real  turning-point  in  my  career  ?  " 

"Isn't  that  Miss  Tauser  beckoning?"  she  mur- 
mured suddenly.  "  Yes,  it  is."  She  sprang  up 
and  stood  shielding  her  eyes  under  a  small  curved 
palm,  rendered  rosily  translucent  by  the  dying  fires 
of  the  day. 

Sloane  rose  too  and  stood  watching  her  with 
narrowed  eyes.  Never  again  would  he  be  able  to 
see  her  in  quite  the  same  clear,  independent,  radiant 
light  as  that  in  which  he  beheld  her  now. 

For  there  is  a  dead-line  in  love.  Up  to  a  certain 
point,  the  lover  is  able  to  perceive  with  a  clear,  a 
cool,  and  even  a  calculating  eye.  Then  emotion 
seizes  him,  pushes  him  over  the  line — and  he  is 
a  lost  soul.  The  beloved  object  is  too  near,  too 
intensely  felt,  to  be  visualised  with  any  degree  of 
veracity. 

And  so  Pinkney,  with  his  eager  heels  on  the  dead- 
line, was  beholding  Celia,  as  she  actually  was,  inde- 
pendent of  him,  independent  of  love,  for  the  last 
time.  It  was  hail  and  farewell.  Hail  sweet, 
warm,  flesh-and-blood  girl!  Hail — love!  Hail — 


ioo  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

wife!  Hail — care,  responsibility,  death,  and  birth 
and  miserable  pain!  Farewell — all  those  bright 
images  and  winged  dreams  that  haunt  the  pillow 
of  heady  youth.  Farewell — Romance!  Hail — 
Reality ! 

It  was  possible  that  deep  within  him,  Sloane 
glimpsed  something  of  all  this,  for  he  had  imagina- 
tion— too  much,  sometimes.  .  .  .  Perhaps  that  was 
why  he  stared  so  hard  at  her  and  even  swept  his 
gaze  around  the  encircling  hills,  as  if  to  stamp  for- 
ever this  precious  souvenir  upon  the  tablets  of  his 
memory. 

"It's  letters,"  murmured  Celia.  "See — she's 
waving  them." 

He  started  forward.     "  I'll  get  them." 

But  Celia,  for  reasons  of  her  own,  objected  to 
this. 

"  I'll  race  you,"  she  cried,  and  she  flashed  by 
him,  while  he  stood  still  to  watch  her  slim  loveli- 
ness in  flight,  won  the  goal,  and  took  the  letters 
from  Miss  Tauser's  hand. 

"  One  for  you  and  one  for  me." 

She  flushed  as  she  marked  the  handwriting  on 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  101 

his  envelope,  forwarded  from  his  New  York  ad- 
dress, for  it  was  identical  with  that  upon  her  own; 
and  both  were  in  the  unmistakeable  calligraphy  of 
Mr.  Pym. 

"Forwarded  from  New  York,  eh?"  commented 
Pinkney,  thrusting  the  letter  into  his  pocket 
"  That's  from  Pym.  He'll  keep.  It's  from  Klag- 
gett  King's  partner,"  he  elucidated.  "  Funny  old 
cock!  Writes  all  his  letters  out  in  longhand  at 
night  in  his  office  after  the  stenographer  has  gone 
home.  Says  it  rests  his  brain." 

"What  do  you  think  of  him?"  she  looked  up 
suddenly  from  the  opening  paragraph  of  her  letter 
to  demand.  They  were  standing  so  close  that  their 
shoulders  touched,  but  he  had  thrown  back  his  head 
to  gaze  at  the  red  and  naked  sun  which  was  just 
dropping  behind  a  smother  of  sanguinary  clouds. 

"Who?" 

"  That  man — Klaggett  King's  partner  ?  " 

Had  Pinkney  looked  at  that  minute  he  would 
have  seen  her  face  glowing  like  the  evening  sky. 
But  his  eyes  were  still  intent  on  the  fiery  ruin  in 
the  west,  and  he  murmured  easily : 


102  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

"  Oh,  he'll  do." 

"Do  what?" 

"  Oh,  anything  Klaggett  King  says.  What  do 
you  want  to  know?"  and  he  bent  his  head  to  her 
with  a  smile. 

"  Nothing  in  particular,"  she  stammered.     "  But 

I  thought That  is — you  gave  such  a  vivid 

impression  of  your  Mr.  King,  and  I— : —     Well,  I 
just  thought  I'd  like  to  hear  about  this  other  man." 

"  I  see,"  he  said,  dryly ;  and  it  was  a  very  flushed 
and  scowling  young  man  who  hurriedly  withdrew 
his  eyes  from  her  and  stared  once  more  at  the 
darkening  pile  of  clouds. 

"  Miss  King,"  he  blurted  out,  "  I  expect  you 
think  I'm  the  star-spangled  limit,  gassing  on  about 
people  I  really  don't  know  anything  about."  He 
seemed  to  be  having  some  difficulty  with  his  wrords ; 
he  swallowed  and  gulped,  and  his  face  was  dark 
as  a  thunder-cloud.  "  I — I  don't  know  Mr.  King — 
and  as  for  this  Pym,  I  only  saw  him  once.  I— 
He  drew  a  breath,  muttered  a  smothered  "  Oh — 
hell ! "  between  clenched  teeth,  and  bolted  away. 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  103 

Celia  started  after  him  in  utter  amazement,  her 
eyes  round  and  very  blue. 

"  Well ! "  she  gasped  finally,  turning  to  Miss 
Tauser.  "What  happened  ?" 

But  Miss  Tauser  only  shrugged  her  meagre 
shoulders,  smiled  a  smile  of  slow  malice,  and  stalked 
back  to  the  ranch. 

A  word  about  Miss  Tauser.  In  her  horoscope, 
she  came  under  the  sign  of  Scorpio,  the  scorpion, 
and  she  was  cast  as  the  spiller  of  many  beans.  She 
was  one  of  those  little  elderly  spinsters  of  whom 
Stevenson  said  that  they  could  not  hear  a  man 
laugh  without  feeling  their  virginity  endangered. 
For  this  drab,  mouse-like  little  old  maid  harboured 
within  her  the  unshakeable  conviction  that  all  men 
were  indecent,  outrageous — Bluebeards  of  secret 
iniquity  and  vice.  No  man  smiled  in  her  presence 
but  she  imputed  to  him  ferocious  sinister  designs. 
No  man  performed  for  her  a  casual,  trifling  service, 
that  little  Miss  Tauser,  twittering  with  feverish  ex- 
citement, did  not  that  night  search  under  her  bed 
and  through  the  closet  to  see  if  the  devilish  monster 


204  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

had  not  concealed  himself  there  in  order  to  leap 
out  upon  her  in  the  middle  of  the  night. 

It  will  be  seen  that  in  a  world  swarming  with 
men,  ice-men,  mail-men,  coal-men,  milk-men,  police- 
men— to  mention  just  a  few — all  of  whom  were  apt 
to  be  kind  to  an  elderly  grey-haired  little  creature 
with  scared-rabbit  eyes,  that  Miss  Tauser  lived  a 
life  of  lurid  mental  adventure  that  would  have 
brought  the  blush  of  envy  to  the  hardened  features 
of  the  buccaneers  of  the  Spanish  Main. 

It  was  therefore  natural  that  she  should  distrust 
Pinkney  and  all  his  works.  From  the  very  first  day 
after  their  arrival  she  had  watched  him  with  the 
deep,  glinting  immobility  with  which  a  cat  watches 
a  mouse-hole,  ready  to  pounce  at  the  slightest  sign. 

Having  observed  the  trend  of  events  until  she 
was  satisfied,  Miss  Tauser  entered  her  cabin  one 
afternoon,  locked  the  window,  barred  the  door,  re- 
mained an  hour  in  secret  toil,  rode  over  to  the 
station  the  following  morning — and  shot  her  bolt. 

She  could  therefore  afford  to  smile  with  slow 
malice  at  Pinkney  and  stalk  in  triumph  away.  But 
Celia  was  deeply  disturbed.  She  walked  thought- 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  105 

fully  back  to  her  cabin,  Mr.  Pym's  open  letter  for- 
gotten in  her  hand. 

Sloane  remained  invisible  the  rest  of  the  day,  and 
rose  the  next  morning  at  dawn  and  rode  away. 
Celia,  who  had  slept  fitfully,  hearing  voices  in  the 
early  morning  twilight,  flung  on  a  sleeveless  smock 
of  silky  gauze,  tiptoed  to  her  cabin  window,  nipped 
the  curtains  discreetly  beneath  her  chin,  peered  out, 
and  beheld  him  crowding  Honeyboy  to  a  gallop 
headed  for  the  state  road. 

A  sudden  sharp  pang  assailed  her,  startling  her 
with  its  flash  of  revelation. 


CHAPTER  TEN 

ALL  that  day  the  skies  wept,  softly,  continuously, 
and  the  landscape,  sombre  as  a  beautiful,  dark, 
brooding  woman,  was  hidden  under  a  fringe  of 
clinging  mist.  And  all  that  day  Celia  wandered 
about  like  one  in  a  dream.  What  is  love?  Is  it 
simply  a  more  intent  look — a  sudden  deepening  of 
vision?  How  is  it  that  an  individual  whom  one 
has  never  marked  before,  or  marked  merely  as  a 
shell,  a  simulacrum,  or  a  respectable  dummy  stuffed 
with  straw,  changes  on  a  sudden  into  a  bright, 
irradiated  being,  wig-wagging  breathless,  soul- 
thrilling  messages  with  the  single  flash  of  an 
eye? 

These  and  a  hundred  kindred  questions  Celia 
pondered  pensively  and  surrendered  herself  to  the 
pleasure  of  taking  out  and  perusing  her  mental 
portraits  of  Sloane.  She  discovered  she  had  quite 
a  collection.  There  was  Pinkney  as  she  had  first 

106 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  107 

beheld  him,  sitting  on  the  bench  before  his  cabin, 
solemn  to  sullenness,  his  brows  ridged,  one  fist  on 
either  knee.  There  was  Pinkney  struggling  gallantly 
to  chase  away  that  scared-rabbit  look  from  Miss 
Tauser's  eyes.  There  was  an  indecent  Pinkney, 
rocking  with  live  laughter  at  some  outrageous  joke 
of  Hunter's  which  she  was  not  permitted  to  hear. 
A  somewhat  pale  Pinkney — this  was  the  prize  of  the 
collection — holding  her  hand  in  a  strong  warm  clasp, 
his  eyes  glued  to  the  distant  hills. 

Discreet  inquiries  elicited  the  information  that 
Mr.  Sloane  had  not  departed  forever ;  he  had  simply 
decamped  for  the  day.  Discovering  this  at  the  tail 
end  of  the  afternoon,  Celia  settled  herself  before  a 
smouldering  log  fire  in  the  main  cabin  and  gave 
herself  up  to  the  perusal  of  the  forgotten  letter  of 
Mr.  Pym. 

Feeling  vaguely  sorry  for  him,  she  wrote  him  a 
long  friendly  reply,  painting  in  lively  colours  the 
mountains,  her  solitary  rambles  and  rides;  and  in 
all,  creating,  quite  unconsciously,  such  an  alluring 
picture  of  beauty  cast  away  on  a  desert  isle  that 
Pym,  reading  it  some  days  later  in  his  comfortable 


io8  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

downtown  eyrie,  high  above  the  windy  canyon  of 
Wall  Street,  was  smitten  with  a  sudden  mad  desire 
to  chuck  his  dry-as-dust  duties,  catch  a  west-bound 
train,  and  take  a  shot  at  roughing  it  a  deux  with 
Celia  in  the  wilds. 

But  he  restrained  his  ardour,  for  he  hated  un- 
expectedness as  he  hated  crumbs  in  his  bed.  Mr. 
Pym  was  not  one  of  those  who  found  the  taste  of 
adventure  sweet  upon  the  tongue.  So  he  whittled 
down  his  unruly  desires  to  a  safe  and  sane  reason- 
ableness, and  commanded  his  secretary  to  go  out 
and  choose  Miss  King  a  book. 

The  day  drew  in  to  its  moody  close,  and  still 
Sloane  did  not  appear.  Celia  retired,  deeply  won- 
dering and  subdued.  Snuggled  soft  in  her  bed, 
with  the  patter  of  rain  beating  on  the  shingles,  and 
the  round  red  ising-glass  eye  of  the  sheet-iron  stove 
blinking  lazily  at  her  through  the  warm  dark,  she 
surrendered  herself  to  drifting  dreams,  vaguely 
melancholy,  vaguely  pleasurable. 

She  was  suddenly  wakened  in  the  dead  of  night, 
as  it  seemed  to  her,  by  laughter  and  voices.  It 
was  Sloane's  warm  laughter  and  Hunter's  admon- 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  109 

ishing  voice.  With  a  flutter  at  her  heart,  Celia 
raised  on  one  elbow  to  listen. 

"  It  was  a  damn  risky  thing  to  do,"  came  Hunter's 
sober  tones.  "  You  had  drunken  man's  luck. 
Those  mountain  trails  get  so  slick  in  the  rain,  what 
with  loose  shale  and  clay,  that  the  best  animal  alive 
is  apt  to  lose  his  footing." 

"  We  slid  once  all  right,"  laughed  Pinkney,  "  and 
I  thought  we  were  headed  straight  for  kingdom- 
come.  The  trail  was  so  steep  I  thought  we'd  tumble 
end  over  end.  Presently  we  scrambled  around  a 
turn  and  came  out  on  an  apron  of  smooth  wet 
shelving  granite,  lying  at  an  angle  of  about  forty- 
five  degrees,  where  a  shoulder  of  the  mountain  had 
sheared  off  with  the  frost.  Honeyboy  snorted  and 
turned  and  nipped  me  on  the  knee  for  getting  him 
into  such  a  fix.  Then  he  crouched  with  his  feet 
so  close  together  that  I  could  almost  hold  them  in 
my  hand,  and  we  took  off  like  greased  lightning, 
and  came  up  against  a  young  sapling  that  Honeyboy 
had  picked  for  a  goal.  If  we'd  missed  that  sapling, 
instead  of  talking  to  you,  I'd  now  be  explaining 
my  case  to  Saint  Peter  at  the  gate." 


I  io  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

With  a  final  laugh,  he  slammed  his  cabin-door. 
For  a  long  time  Celia  lay  staring  with  wide  eyes 
into  the  dark.  Her  heart  contracted  painfully.  A 
big  powerful  hand  seemed  to  have  gripped  it  in  a 
vise-like  hold,  and  the  new,  strange  dolour  squeezed 
sudden  tears  out  of  her  eyes.  So  he  had  gone  off 
mountain-climbing  in  the  rain  .  .  .  for  amuse- 
ment .  .  .  and  without  her.  .  .  .  What  strange 
beings  were  men!  To  prefer  a  mountain  to  a 
girl!  .  .  . 

There  is  a  tide  in  the  affairs  of  women,  which, 
taken  at  the  flood,  leads  on  to  fits  of  tears.  So  it 
was  with  Celia.  The  fountains  in  the  deeps  of  her 
suddenly  broke  up  with  a  rush,  and  she  began  to 
weep — to  weep  with  a  wild,  passionate  violence 
which  surprised  even  herself. 

Just  why  she  gave  way  at  this  particular  juncture, 
she  herself  could  not  have  coherently  told ;  but  once 
begun,  she  followed  a  system.  It  was  a  system  she 
had  built  up  from  childhood.  And  now  she  wept, 
not  only  over  Pinkney's  defection — for  it  is  a 
defection,  in  the  eyes  of  twenty-two,  to  prefer  a 
mountain  to  a  maid — but  also  over  all  the  other 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  ill 

untoward  events  which  had  happened  to  her  for 
months,  and  which  she  had  been  too  busy  to  bother 
with  at  the  time;  events  over  which  other  girls  of 
less  stern  stuff  would  have  cried  their  eyes  out,  but 
which  Celia  had  merely  tossed  into  the  back  of  her 
mind  with  the  mental  tag :  "  This  is  awful.  Cry 
over  this  sometime !  "  So  now,  once  the  tears  had 
forced  their  way  to  the  surface,  Celia  let  herself  go, 
gathered  up  all  her  hitherto  unwept- for  troubles, 
enumerated  them,  and  cried  over  them  one  by  one. 
She  began  with  Mr.  Pym — in  order,  perhaps,  to 
get  him  out  of  the  way.  She  cried  because  she 
could  not  love  him,  and  because  he  was  not  the  type 
of  man  a  girl  was  apt  to  love.  Then  she  cried  over 
her  father's  ugly  temper.  She  cried  because  she 
fought  him  back.  Then  she  circled  wider,  and 
cried  over  the  wounded  men  in  her  ward,  poor 
broken  bodies,  that  never  would  mend  in  this  world. 
She  cried  for  the  men  who  had  died,  who  had  given 
their  lives  for  a  faith,  a  shining  vision  of  freedom, 
which,  so  far  as  she  could  see,  nobody  cared  for 
any  more.  She  cried  because,  here  in  America, 
nobody  now  seemed  to  care  for  these  dead.  .  .  . 


112  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

She  was  now  far  from  her  original  starting-point 
and  still  going  strong,  sobbing  aloud  as  if  her  heart 
would  break,  when  suddenly  there  came  a  firm 
double  knock  at  the  door. 

"  Miss  King — can  I — can  I  do  anything  for 
you?" 

It  was  Sloane's  voice,  firm  and  reassuring  as  his 
knock. 

Celia  was  silent. 

"  I  went  out  to  see  if  Honey  boy  was  under  shelter. 
I  rode  him  pretty  hard  to-day.  Returning,  I  passed 

your  cabin  and  heard  sounds  as  if — as  if Are 

you  ill?" 

"  I  was  crying,"  said  Celia,  suddenly  resolving 
on  the  truth — at  least  that  particular  portion  of  the 
truth  which  was  true  at  that  particular  portion  of 
time.  "  I  was  crying  over  our  soldiers  who  died 
over  there — and  because  nobody  over  here  seems  to 
care.  Do  you  remember  how  it  used  to  r-r-rain — 

r-r-rain — r-r-rain "  her  voice  ran  off  into  a  sob 

— "  at  their  poor,  bleak  little  funerals  ?  " 

"  Don't  cry  any  more,"  his  voice  came  very  earn- 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  113 

estly  through  the  door.  "  They're  all  right,  you 
know.  They've  done  their  job.  They've  fought 
the  good  fight;  they  have  finished  the  course;  they 
have  kept  the  faith.  They're  the  real  victors  in 
this  war.  They  wouldn't  want  you  to  cry  about 
them." 

"  I  know." 

"  Then  promise  me  you  won't." 

"All  right.  I  won't.  I'd  about  finished  any- 
how." 

"That's  good."  There  was  a  smothered  note 
bf  laughter  in  his  voice.  "  Good  night." 

"Good  night-o!" 

In  five  minutes  Celia  was  fast  asleep,  her  lashes 
still  wet  as  the  drowned  grass  of  an  inundated 
meadow.  But  her  lips  curved  upward  in  a  smile. 

As  for  Sloane,  when  he  regained  his  cabin,  still 
laughing,  he  said  aloud,  presumably  to  his  own 
soul: 

"  I'm  going  to  marry  that  girl  if  it's  the  last 
thing  I  do ! "  And  he  was  glad  he  had  gone  up 
into  the  mountain  for  a  decision. 


ii4  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

The  following  afternoon,  which  was  the  fourth, 
they  again  betook  themselves  to  the  tree,  and  seated 
under  it,  they  settled  the  affairs  of  the  world.  They 
finished  off  the  war,  the  after-war  materialism,  and 
above  all  the  sins  of  the  reactionary,  hide-bound, 
and  muddling  elder  generation  which  had  brought 
these  evils  to  pass.  And  when  Celia  waxed  too 
severe,  Pinkney,  in  a  spirit  of  impartial  justice, 
went  to  the  bat  on  both  sides,  contending  manfully, 
clinching  his  points  with  a :  "Do  you  see  that ? 
Well — call  that  Reason  A.  Now  let's  look  at  Rea- 
son B,"  while  Celia,  chin  in  hand,  her  eyes  blue  as 
cobalt,  listened  with  profound  attention,  dissented, 
or  agreed.  At  the  close  of  the  day  Pinkney  was 
somewhat  hoarse  and  Celia  had  achieved  a  sunburnt 
nose;  but  they  both  agreed,  with  high  seriousness, 
that  it  was  indispensable  to  go  into  those  problems 
occasionally,  and  think  them  straight  through  to 
the  bitter  end. 

"  I  loathe  these  vague,  fuzzy-minded  old  chuckle- 
heads,  who  never  check  themselves  up,"  declared 
Sloane. 

"  So  do  I,"  affirmed  Celia.     "  That's  why  I  came 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  115 

out  here  to  the  ranch — to  think  things  thoroughly 
through." 

"  That's  why  I  went  off  yesterday,"  he  contrib- 
uted. "  I  wanted  to  think." 

Celia  did  not  comment  on  this,  and  after  a  momen- 
tary wait  he  continued,  labouring  slightly :  "  You 
see,  I've  got  to  get  back  on  my  job.  So  I've  decided 
to  beat  it  to-morrow  night  on  the  ten  o'clock  Over- 
land." 

He  paused  and  turned  to  look  at  her,  but  she  had 
averted  her  face  and  he  could  see  only  the  profile. 
She  had  put  on  that  austere  look  again,  he  reflected, 
and  her  mouth,  which  he  always  conceived  as  his 
ally,  was  as  firm  and  unyielding  as  a  piece  of  sculp- 
tor's marble.  That  it  was  firm  because  she  was 
contending  with  strong  emotions,  did  not  occur  to 
him. 

"  And  so  yesterday  you  were  saying  good-bye  to 
your  friends,  the  mountains  ?  "  she  asked  with  cold 
carefulness. 

"  No." 

His  voice  sounded  sober,  even  strained.  "  No — 
I  went  off  to  decide  something " 


n6  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

"And  did  you?" 

"  I  did." 

"  I  hope  you  decided — wisely?  " 

"  Oh — wisely !  "  His  laugh  was  unsteady.  "  I'm 
not  so  sure  about  that.  I'll  be  able  to  tell  you  better 
in  ten  years." 

"You  mean  something  about  your  plant?"  she 
questioned  softly,  still  looking  carefully  away  from 
him. 

"  No.     More  important  than  that." 

"Mr.  King,  then?" 

Her  face  had  swerved  around  so  that  he  could 
obtain  a  three-quarter  view  of  her  face,  and  the 
marble  of  her  mouth  seemed  trembling  toward  a 
smile. 

"  No.  Far  more  important  than  King — though 
he's  in  it.  That's  what  makes  it  such  a  mess." 

Celia  now  looked  straight  round  at  him  in  open 
surprise.  They  had  risen  and  stood  facing  each 
other. 

In  justification  of  the  base  trick  which  Pinkney 
now  played  upon  Celia,  it  should  be  said  that  all 
day  he  had  been  vainly  striving  to  jockey  the  con- 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  117 

versation  around  to  a  point  where  he  would  have 
an  opening,  an  opportunity,  to  say  with  simple,  un- 
studied grace,  ease,  and  sincerity  the  thing  he  de- 
sired to  say.  But  each  time  such  an  opening 
occurred,  his  mind  shied  away  violently  as  a  timid 
horse  shies  away  from  a  scrap  of  white  paper  in 
the  road.  And  several  times  during  the  course  of 
that  afternoon  of  easy  conversation  on  popular 
topics  of  the  day,  his  temples  became  beaded  with 
fine  pearls  of  perspiration,  which  could  not  be  laid 
to  the  sun.  So  now  he  essayed  a  justifiable  ruse, 
and  did  evil  that  good  might  abound. 

It  was  a  glowing  twilight,  just  paling  out  into 
night.  The  red  and  naked  sun  like  a  huge  coppery 
disc  had  sunk  behind  the  sombre  rampart  of 
mountains.  The  sunlight  disappeared.  There  had 
followed  a  momentary  vast  flare-up  of  magnificent 
fires,  slowly  extinguished,  and  then  came  on  the 
dark.  And  the  dark  was  the  ally  Sloane  was  wait- 
ing for.  He  tilted  back  his  head  with  a  fine  show 
of  unconcern  and  gazed  up  at  the  clear  pale  zenith. 

"  Look  up !  "  he  murmured,  laughter  in  his  voice. 
"  Right  overhead  .  .  .  The  first  star." 


ii8  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

Of  course,  as  even  the  veriest  dabbler  in  astron- 
omy knows,  first  stars  do  not  come  out  in  the  zenith 
where  the  light  lingers  longest,  but  farther  down 
the  twilight  steeps  of  the  sky.  But  this  was  Pink- 
ney's  own  private  constellation;  he  had  manufac- 
tured it  for  a  particular  purpose. 

Celia,  who  had  been  watching  the  crimson  cloud- 
streamers  change  to  an  ensanguined  purple,  to  vivid 
rose,  to  delicate  mushroom  pink,  and  then  to  dun 
smoke  which  faded  into  night,  turned  unsus- 
piciously, tipped  back  her  head,  and  sighted  rather 
carefully  along  the  line  of  his  index  finger. 

The  pure  oval  of  her  face  with  its  aureole  of 
burnished  hair  was  directly  beneath  his  own;  her 
head  just  touched  his  shoulder,  sending  live  little 
electric  thrills  racing  up  and  down  his  awn.  He 
bent  his  head.  He  caught  a  flying  glimpse  of 
her  gleaming  eyes,  dusky  pools  of  mystery,  and 
sensed  rather  than  saw  the  palpitating  whiteness 
of  her  throat  before  he  felt  the  softness  of  her 
lips. 

"  I  don't  see  your  little  old  st " 

She  had  just  begun  to  frame  the  word  when  her 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  ,119 

mouth  was  sealed  by  another  descending  squarely 
upon  her  own. 

Her  startled  gasp  apprised  him  that  possibly  he 
had  erred  in  his  plan  of  attack.  But  he  was  in  so 
deep  now  that  he  recklessly  decided  he  might  as 
well  be  hung  for  a  sheep  as  a  lamb;  for  Celia  would 
certainly  hang  him  anyway.  So  he  stood  away, 
laughing,  excited,  and  said: 

"That's  it — st-ar!  It's  my  st-ar!  I  made  it, 
with  a  crack  in  it." 

Her  indignant  silence  warned  him  he  was  on  the 
extreme  knife-edge  of  danger.  He  possessed  him- 
self of  her  hand  to  give  him  courage  while  he 
plunged,  still  laughing: 

"  Don't  mind  me,  Celia.  I  don't  mean  anything. 
I  mean  that  I  mean  everything.  But  don't  mind 
my  laughing.  I'm  one  of  these  laughing  fools. 
Laugh  at  everything.  .  .  .  Laugh  when  I'm  sad. 
.  .  .  Laugh  when  I'm  mad.  .  .  .  Laugh  when  I'm 
glad.  .  .  .  Teacher  used  to  lick  me  for  laughing, 
and  the  harder  he  licked,  the  harder  I  laughed.  .  .  . 
Laughing  just  now  because  I  feel  as  if  I'd  swal- 
lowed the  whole  Atlantic  Ocean  and  found  it 


120  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

Pommery  Sec.  .  .  .  Laughing  because  you  kissed 
me!" 

"  I  didn't ! "  cried  out  Celia.  "  Oh— outrageous ! 
Mr.  Sloane!"  She  struggled  to  wrest  away  her 
hand. 

"  One  moment.  Let's  get  this  thing  straight. 
You  say  you  didn't  kiss  me.  I  say  you  did.  It's 
not  the  sort  of  thing  a  man's  apt  to  be  mistaken 
about.  One  may  be  mistaken  about  some  things, 
but  not  about " 

"  Mr.  Sloane !  This — this "  She  struggled 

with  her  breaking  voice,  and  took  a  fresh  start. 
"  You  are — impossible." 

"  No.  Highly  improbable,  but  never  impossible. 
Slightly  disfigured  but  still  in  the  ring.  Then  you 
didn't ?" 

She  was  flying  all  the  storm  signals  now,  her 
lips  pressed  hard  together,  her  colour  blazing. 

"You  know  I  didn't!  This  is Why,  you 

know  very  well  you — you  took  me  by  surprise.  I 
was  just  starting  to  say  st " 

"  St-ar  ?  Hm !  Not  so  sure  that's  the  way 
you  start  to  say  st-ar.  Say  it,  Celia,  slowly — 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  121 

and  smile  when  you  say  it.  St-ar!  My  st-ar! 
But  Celia  went  and  cracked  it." 

"  Let  me  go,  Mr.  Sloane ! "  she  panted. 

"  No,  no!  "  he  declared.  "  I've  not  even  begun 
yet.  Celia!"  he  implored.  "Listen  to  me!  Let 
me  explain.  Been  trying  to  for  days.  .  .  .  Never 
proposed  to  a  girl  like  you  before.  .  .  .  Do  it  better 
next  time.  .  .  .  Every  time  I  looked  at  you,  some- 
thing inside  of  me  said :  '  Do  it  now,  my  boy.  Get 
the  damn  thing  over.'  Tried.  .  .  .  Couldn't.  .  .  . 
Felt  like  one  of  those  naked  little  shavers  shivering 
on  the  bank,  afraid  to  take  a  high  dive.  .  .  . 
Thought  I'd  write  it.  ...  Couldn't.  Words  are 
clumsy  things.  Not  yours,  though,  Celia.  Love  to 
hear  you  talk.  Managed  to  chop  off  some  jazz 
about  that: 

'Tis  true  words  may  be  clumsy  things. 
(But  not  the  kind  my  Celia  slings!) 
May  twilight  through  young  apple-trees, 
The  music  of  the  twilight  breeze — 
(My  Celia's  words  are  such  as  these!) 

"  But  you'd  not  call  that  a  proposal !  Well,  I 
couldn't  do  it,  Every  time  I  even  started  to  think 


122  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

of  saying  it,  my  heart  would  race  like  a  mill-wheel. 
And  I  thought :  '  You'll  have  to  do  something  radi- 
cal, my  boy.  Something  that'll  startle  her.  Some- 
thing that'll  break  this  infernal  deadlock/  So 
finally  I  doped  out  this  practical  project  of  proposing 
to  your  mouth  in  the  dark." 

He  broke  off,  suddenly  feeling  tired,  as  if  he  had 
been  lifting  a  dead  weight. 

"Celia!" 

He  peered  into  her  averted  face,  but  could  make 
nothing  of  her  expression. 

"  Celia !  Look  at  me.  My  God,  say  some- 
thing!" 

Slowly  she  turned  her  head,  and  he  beheld  a  glow- 
ing girl  with  a  laughing  mouth  and  deep  shining 
eyes. 

"What — what  do  you  want  me  to  say?  " 

The  look  in  her  eyes  seemed  to  warrant  him  in 
discarding  her  hand  and  taking  her  in  his  arms. 
He  heaved  a  deep  chest-lifting  sigh,  like  a  swimmer 
in  wild  waters  who  gains  the  shore. 

"Oh,  any  old  thing!"  he  murmured.  "Let's 
take-off  with  st-ar!" 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  123 

Walking  back  to  the  ranch  beneath  the  crowded 
glitter  of  real,  uncracked  constellations,  which  by 
now  spangled  the  black  velvet  curtains  of  the  sky, 
Celia  suddenly  stopped,  disengaged  herself,  and  said 
seriously : 

"  Pinkney,  I  want  to  tell  you  something.  Some- 
thing very  important.  I — I've  deceived  you." 

"What?  As  bad  as  that?"  he  cried  with  a 
laugh.  And  he  bent  down  to  kiss  her. 

"  No,"  said  Celia,  standing  away.  "  This  is 
serious." 

"  Very  well/'  he  murmured  resignedly.  "  But 
who  ever  heard  of  a  girl  wanting  to  be  serious  right 
after  she  was  engaged?  We'll  make  a  bargain. 
If  I'm  serious  with  you  for  five  minutes,  will  you 
promise  to  be  strictly  unserious  with  me  for  all  the 
rest  of  the  evening?  " 

"Will  you  listen?"  she  entreated. 

"  Oh,  all  right.  Shoot  if  you  must  this  old  grey 
head — but  why  don't  you  wait  until  morning? 
That's  the  time  to  catch  a  man  deadly  serious.  And 
suppose,"  he  concluded  teasingly,  "  that  I  know  your 
old  serious  stuff  anyhow  ?  " 


124  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

"You  couldn't!" 

"Couldn't?  What'll  you  bet  that  I  don't  know 
what's  hanging  this  very  second  on  the  tip  of  your 
tongue,  panting  to  be  told?  It's  a  sentence — a 
sentence  of  five  words.  Wait.  I'll  whisper  it  in 
your  ear." 

She  bent  her  head  doubtingly,  and  he  put  his  lips 
to  her  ear  and  hissed  in  fierce  melodramatic  ac- 
cents : 

"Sst!     My  father  is  Klaggett  King!" 

"  Why,  that's  right ! "  cried  out  Celia,  opening 
her  eyes  wide.  "  How  did  you  know  it?" 

But  Pinkney  only  laughed  as  he  said :  "  Are  we 
through  being  serious  ? "  His  hand  lit  upon  her 
waist,  clasped  it,  and  they  moved  on  into  the  night. 
And  then  he  elucidated. 

"  When  a  girl  holds  an  open  letter  from  another 
man  whose  handwriting  you  can  recognise  within  a 
foot  of  your  nose,  and  when  that  letter  begins :  '  My 
dear  Miss  Celia : — Your  father  has  had  another  bad 
attack  and  is  of!  on  his  yacht/  it  doesn't  take  a 
Miltonic  imagination  to  put  two  and  two  together 
and  make  four." 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  125 

"  I  see,"  murmured  Celia  thoughtfully.  "  Mr. 
Pym's  letter." 

"  Correct,"  he  replied,  and  he  gave  her  waist  a 
squeeze.  "  I  believe,"  he  said,  still  meditatively 
unserious,  "  that  you're  what  the  French  call  fausse 
maigre — which  means  that  you're  fatter  than  you 

look.  I  bet  that  you  weigh — let  me  see I 

really  ought  to  heft  you " 

"  And  so  that  is  the  reason  you  shot  off  that  after- 
noon like  a  catapult,"  continued  Celia,  who  had  a 
consecutive  mind. 

"  That  was  the  reason.  I  don't  like  to  mix  politics 
and  religion,  or  business  and  love.  But  why  didn't 
you  tell  me  your  father  was  Klaggett  King?  I'll 
have  to  keep  a  watch  over  you  like  Othello  if  you're 
going  to  deceive  me  like  that." 

"  I  was  afraid,"  she  stated  with  candour. 

"Of  what?" 

"  That  it  might  mix  you  up." 

"  It  darned  near  did,"  he  admitted.  "  It  was 
only  after  I  slid  off  that  granite  apron  and  shaved 
eternity  by  the  width  of  a  slim  pine  that  I  decided 
parents  didn't  count." 


126  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

"  That's  what  I  decided,  too." 

At  this  juncture  they  became  strictly  unserious, 
and  continued  so,  with  rare  lucid  intervals,  up  to 
the  moment  when  Pinkney  boarded  the  east-bound 
train. 

Celia  evolved  a  new  adjective  for  him.  She  de- 
clared he  was  a  more-ish  man;  and  although  that 
word  was  not  in  the  dictionary,  he  understood  it 
instantly  and  gave  a  practical  demonstration  upon 
the  spot. 

During  their  brief  intervals  of  sobriety,  it  was 
decided  that  Celia  should  remain  at  the  ranch  for 
another  month,  which  gave  Pinkney  time  to  arrange 
his  business  with  Klaggett  King.  And  when  the 
salvage  company  had  blossomed  forth  into  full- 
petalled  success,  he  was  to  be  free  to  speak  to  King 
about  his  daughter.  But  not  before.  They  had  dis- 
agreed flatly  over  this  question  of  secrecy,  Sloane 
objecting  strongly.  But  Celia  said  she  knew  her 
father,  and  in  the  end  she  had  her  way. 


CHAPTER  ELEVEN 

WHEN  Pinkney  Sloane  returned  to  New  York,  he 
found  the  city  sweltering  in  the  intense  heat  of  a 
late  Indian  summer.  Dust  eddies  skirled  along  the 
street,  flicking  into  his  eyes  refuse  and  scraps  of 
paper.  The  air  was  heavy  and  humid,  with  gusts 
of  wild  wind  alternating  with  flooding  sheets  of 
rain  which  but  rendered  the  atmosphere  even  more 
torrid  and  oppressive  than  before.  To  Sloane, 
fresh  from  his  love-idyl  and  the  crystalline  pure  air 
of  the  hills,  the  jaded  flat  staleness,  the  frowsy  dis- 
order, not  only  of  the  heat-smitten  city,  but  of  the 
people  as  well,  brought  a  sense  of  irritation  and 
disgust. 

Walking  down  lower  Fifth  Avenue  at  the  noon 
hour,  he  was  caught  like  a  cork  in  the  dense  stream 
of  swarthy,  foreign-born  workers,  which  boiled,  a 
vast  dirty,  turbulent  tide,  out  into  the  street  from 
factories  and  loft  buildings.  And  in  all  that  enor- 

127 


128  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

mous  swaying  tide  of  dark  greasy  faces,  beaked 
noses,  and  wildly  gesticulating  hairy  hands,  not  one 
word  of  English  could  be  heard.  He  might  have 
been  in  the  ghetto  of  any  Russian  or  Polish  city. 
Not  a  touch,  not  a  trace  of  America  in  all  that  vast 
jabbering  throng. 

"  We'll  not  live  in  New  York ! "  he  decided 
grimly. 

He  fought  his  way  through  the  throng  to  the 
quiet  side  street  in  which  he  lodged,  mounted  to  his 
room,  and  standing  beside  his  bed,  ran  rapidly 
through  his  mail.  Most  of  the  letters  were  ad- 
vertisements, with  a  scattering  bill  or  so.  But  one 
among  them  apprised  him  that  Gilmore  was  dead. 
He  had  died  unexpectedly,  following  an  operation 
for  appendicitis. 

Sloane  dropped  into  a  chair,  badly  shaken  by  this 
sudden  blow.  He  loved  Gilmore.  There  had  been 
a  deep  bond  between  him  and  the  older  man.  And 
now  he  would  never  see  him  again,  look  into  his 
lean  quizzical  face,  or  feel  the  cordial  grip  of  his 
big  bony  hand.  Gilmore  had  been  the  first  man 
to  believe  in  him,  and  to  see  the  practical  mercantile 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  129 

value  of  what  he  was  trying  to  do.  A  keen,  hard- 
headed  Yankee,  flung  early  into  the  vortex  of  busi- 
ness life  and  abundantly  successful  therein,  Gilmore, 
with  no  sons  of  his  own,  had  taken  Sloane  under 
his  wing,  counselled,  advised,  criticised,  and  inspired 
the  young  man  by  the  integrity  of  his  own  big, 
uncomplicated  nature. 

Now  he  had  gone — or  had  he  just  gone  on?  .  .  . 

For  an  hour  Sloane  sat,  chin  sunk  on  his  breast, 
his  hat  crowded  down  over  his  eyes,  while  he  passed 
in  review  his  relationship  with  this  man.  He  tried 
to  recall  if  Gilmore  had  ever  talked  to  him  about 
death.  He  remembered  one  occasion.  .  .  . 

Sloane  had  come  to  the  older  man  with  a  problem. 
It  concerned  a  girl — a  young  Russian  Jewess,  with 
a  sweep  of  dusky  hair,  a  large  round,  moon-pale 
face,  a  sulky  crimson  mouth,  and  eyes  which  were 
such  deep  dark  inscrutable  wells  of  mystery  that 
the  young  man  found  himself  constantly  staring 
avidly  into  them,  even  while  a  cool  inward  mentor 
muttered  disgustedly  inside  of  him :  "  Damn !  " 

He  had  engaged  this  girl  as  a  stenographer,  and 
also,  as  he  had  frankly  confessed  to  Gilmore,  be- 


130  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

cause  he  didn't  altogether  hate  her  looks.  Her 
name  was  Lena  Delinski,  and  her  prowess,  both 
with  the  typewriter  and  with  the  English  grammar, 
were  not,  he  admitted,  her  strongest  points. 

"  She  can't  write  a  simple  letter  without  mis- 
spelling ninety  percent  of  the  words.  She's  as  lazy 
and  shiftless  as  she  is  good-looking.  Comes  down 
to  the  office  about  eleven,  and  then  has  the  nerve  to 
yawn  under  my  nose.  I  called  her  Miss  Do-Little- 
sky  the  other  day  and  told  her  if  she  didn't  change 
it  into  Miss  Do-Moreski,  I'd  change  it  myself  into 
Get-Outski." 

Upon  which,  he  related,  the  girl  suddenly  blew 
up  like  an  ammunition  dump,  told  him  he  was  slowly 
torturing  her  to  death  with  the  brutal  coldness  of 
his  Anglo-Saxon  nature.  Told  him — well,  a  num- 
ber of  interesting  things.  .  .  . 

"  And  now,"  Sloane  concluded,  "  I'm  in  a  fix. 
I  hired  her  partly  because  she's  good  to  look  at — a 
fact  she  blamed  well  knows.  She  knows  I  don't 
hate  to  look  at  her.  What  she  doesn't  know  is 
that  I  don't  want  her — as  a  typewriter  or  anything 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  131 

else — any  more  than  I  want  the  toothache.  But 
she's  absolutely  determined  to  stick  around.  And 
stick  she  does — like  glue.  I've  fired  her  a  dozen 
times,  and  half  the  time  she  laughs  and  half  the 
time  she  weeps.  But  still  she  sticks!  Now  what 
am  I  going  to  do?" 

Closing  his  eyes,  Sloane  could  visualise  just  how 
Gilmore's  kindly  rugged  face  and  quizzical  eyes 
had  looked,  as  he  replied.  And  at  first  he  had 
seemed  to  be  speaking  upon  another  subject  as 
he  said: 

"  Death,  as  I  see  it,  is  not  our  concern.  And  we 
are  not  the  concern  of  death.  Nor  is  death  the 
great  adventure.  The  big,  live,  real  adventure  is 
inside  ourselves.  There  is  your  fight!  There  is 
your  battlefield!  Conquer  yourself,  and  you'll 
have  no  trouble  with  life,  or  death — or  the  Lenas  in 
your  road.  I  suspect,"  he  had  added  dryly,  "  that 
before  ever  you  hired  Lena,  she  had  already  hired 
you.  Now  you  say  you  have  fired  her;  but  Lena 
knows  better;  she  knows  you've  not  fired  her  yet 
in  your  mind.  She  knows  you  like  her — up  to  a 


j  32  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

certain  extent;  and  what  she's  working  for  now  is 
to  change  her  minority  into  a  majority.  It's  been 
done  by  Lenas  before  now." 

"  I  get  that,"  muttered  Sloane,  grinning  ruefully. 
"  But  how  the  devil  am  I  to  make  her  stay  fired  ?  " 

"  Fire  her  to  yourself  first.  Then  I'll  warrant 
she'll  stay  fired." 

"  All  right,"  said  Pinkney  soberly.  "  I'll  do  that 
little  thing."  And  he  did.  And  Lena  had  stayed 
fired. 

It  was  not,  however,  of  Lena  he  was  thinking 
at  this  time,  but  of  that  opening  remark  of  Gil- 
more  :  "  Death  is  not  our  concern,  nor  are  we  the 
concern  of  death."  What  had  he  meant?  Was  he 
speaking  of  some  inner,  imperishable  "  we  "  ? 

Finally,  he  went  out,  determined  to  see  Mrs. 
Gilmore  if  she  were  in  town.  But  the  big  stone 
mansion  on  Park  Avenue  was  already  boarded  up, 
and  not  even  a  caretaker  responded  to  his  repeated 
assaults  on  the  electric  bell. 

He  walked  over  to  the  nearest  subway  and  took 
the  downtown  express  to  Gilmore's  offices.  But 
here  he  fared  no  better.  Gilmore's  partner,  Chap- 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  133 

man,  was  in  Europe,  looking  into  the  shipping  situa- 
tion, and  a  stranger  whom  Sloane  had  never  seen 
sat  in  Gilmore's  private  room,  in  Gilmore's  swivel 
chair,  and  as  he  recounted  almost  indifferently  Gil- 
more's death,  he  fingered  absently  Gilmore's  fa- 
vourite paper-weight.  It  was  as  if  a  wave  had 
suddenly  gone  over  his  friend,  obliterating  all  signs 
of  him.  Suddenly  Sloane  could  not  endure  it.  He 
rose,  with  a  muttered  excuse,  and  got  himself  out 
of  the  place,  his  eyes  blind  with  tears. 

The  death  of  his  friend  was  fraught  with  conse- 
quences, immediate  and  profound.  For  it  was  Gil- 
more  who  had  advised  him  to  negotiate  a  loan 
through  Klaggett  King;  it  was  Gilmore  who  had 
warned  him  under  no  circumstances  to  surrender  a 
majority  of  his  shares,  no  matter  what  the  pressure 
might  be;  and  it  was  Gilmore  whom  he  had  im- 
plicitly relied  upon  to  advise  him  in  the  final  settle- 
ment of  the  terms.  Now  he  was  left  without  guid- 
ance to  steer  his  bark  through  the  perilous  seas 
of  high  finance. 

Almost  he  was  tempted  to  turn  back,  to  follow 
Celia's  advice,  and  to  take  the  long,  slow,  labori- 


i34  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

ous  route  to  success.  For  two  days  he  threshed  out 
this  problem  all  over  again,  and  decided  that  Gil- 
'  more  was  right  and  Celia  was  wrong.  Having  thus 
reassured  himself,  he  put  on  his  hat  and  went  to 
call  on  Klaggett  King. 

But  Mr.  King  had  not  yet  returned.  And  Mr. 
Pym,  the  secretary  informed  him,  was  in  confer- 
ence and  could  not  be  disturbed. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Sloane,  turning  away.  "  Just 
tell  him  I  called." 

The  following  day  he  had  a  lengthy  note  from 
Mr.  Pym,  stating,  in  his  fine,  clear,  copper-plate 
hand,  a  number  of  things.  Mr.  Pym  deeply  re- 
gretted that  he  had  not  been  able  to  see  Mr.  Sloane. 
Mr.  King  was  still  absent  on  his  yacht,  The  Saturn, 
and  his  health  was  the  cause  of  considerable  anxiety 
to  his  friends.  He  could,  of  course,  be  reached 
by  wireless  if  Mr.  Sloane  deemed  it  necessary,  but 
Mr.  Pym  would  advise  strongly  against  such  a 
course.  As  Mr.  King  was  negotiating  this  loan  for 
Mr.  Sloane  himself,  and  the  entire  business  was 
in  his  hands,  Mr.  Pym  could  not  move  in  the 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  135 

affair;  but  he  could  assure  Mr.  Sloane  that,  to  the 
best  of  his  knowledge,  the  matter  was  in  very  sat- 
isfactory shape,  and  Mr.  Sloane  need  have  no 
worry  on  that  head. 

Thus  Mr.  Pym.  And  Pinkney,  after  reading  it 
grimly  through  for  the  third  time,  decided  it  was 
a  fine  letter  as  far  as  it  went,  but  it  did  not  go  far 
enough  by  several  blocks  of  houses.  In  addition, 
either  Mr.  Pym  or  Mr.  King  was  a  thundering 
liar.  At  that  particular  moment  he  was  not  in- 
terested in  ascertaining  which  one  of  the  two  gentle- 
men it  was,  for  the  net  result  to  him,  in  either  event, 
was  the  same.  It  landed  him  in  a  hole.  And  the 
next  step  was  to  survey  the  hole,  its  depth  and  its 
magnitude,  and  discover  if  there  were  any  red-light 
exits  marked.  But  the  more  he  looked  the  more 
he  was  forced  to  admit  that,  as  holes  went,  it  was 
as  thorough-going  a  specimen  as  any  he  had  ever 
been  in. 

In  the  first  place,  he  had  no  ready  cash.  Up  to 
the  present,  he  had  not  owed  a  dime  in  the  world. 
For  his  current  expenses,  which  were  not  large,  he 


136  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

had  sold  off  from  time  to  time  small  blocks  of 
stock,  and  had  thus  managed  to  maintain  on  de- 
posit at  the  bank  a  small  margin  for  emergencies. 
But  only  the  day  before  he  had  been  advised  by 
a  special  bank-messenger  that  his  last  check  had 
been  returned  on  account  of  insufficient  funds.  The 
insufficiency  had  turned  out  to  be  a  deficit  of  seven 
cents.  And  that  deficit  he  had  made  good  by 
pawning  his  fur  overcoat,  depositing  the  sum  ob- 
tained, and  advising  his  creditors  to  put  the  check 
through  once  more.  But  as  he  admitted  sombrely 
to  himself,  that  was  shaving  things  down  to  the 
blood. 

That  was  the  first  part  of  his  trouble :  no  money. 
The  second,  and  more  disastrous  part  was  that  he 
did  not  know  where  to  lay  hands  on  any.  For  to 
sell  off  a  block  of  stock  now,  at  this  stage  of  the 
proceedings,  was  to  diminish  the  amount  he  had 
sworn  to  as  having  on  hand,  k  altered  his  status. 
Not  much.  But  it  was  like  that  seven  cents'  deficit 
at  the  bank:  it  was  enough  to  give  King  a  handle 
against  him,  if  a  handle  was  what  he  was  looking 
for — which  Sloane  shrewdly  suspected  to  be  the 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  137 

case.  King  collected  handles  as  a  blacksmith  col- 
lects horseshoes,  and  for  the  same  practical  reason : 
he  used  them  in  his  business. 

Surveying  his  hole  on  all  sides,  he  discovered  that 
he  was  not  yet  at  the  bottom  of  it,  but  rather, 
perched  perilously  about  half  way  down,  on  a  slip- 
pery little  shelf  scarce  big  enough  for  his  feet,  and 
with  a  still  deeper  pit  yawning  blackly  below. 

For  heretofore,  his  plant  had  been  a  small  one- 
horse  affair,  housed  in  a  single  floor  of  an  old 
building  on  a  west-side  street  near  the  ferries  and 
close  to  the  waterfront.  But,  acting  on  King's  sug- 
gestion, he  had  taken  over  the  entire  house,  torn 
down  partitions,  converted  it  into  a  factory,  and 
hired  a  score  of  sailors  who  were  even  now  cutting 
canvas  and  splicing  ropes  for  his  balloons.  Not 
one  of  them  but  had  invested  some  of  their  weekly 
earnings  in  the  new  salvage  company.  They  called 
him  Captain  Sloane,  and  talked  eagerly  of  the  day 
when  they  should  raise  their  first  prize.  The  bare 
thought  of  discharging  or  disappointing  these  men 
made  him  clench  his  fists  and  determine  to  hang 
on.  Accordingly,  he  hung  on.  A  week  passed. 


138  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

Two  weeks.  A  month.  And  still  no  sign  of  Klag- 
gett  King. 

A  crowd  of  petty  debts  began  to  hum  and  sing 
about  his  ears  like  a  swarm  of  mosquitoes;  they 
stung  him,  one  after  another,  in  his  most  vulner- 
able spot — his  pocket-book.  To  get  rid  of  them, 
he  transmuted  into  coin  of  the  realm  every  article 
in  his  possession  capable  of  such  transmutation: 
his  evening  clothes,  his  trunk,  a  pair  of  riding-boots 
bought  in  Paris. 

The   boots   recalled   another   source   of   wealth. 

While  in  France,  in  a  moment  of  patriotic  ex- 
pansion, he  had  invested  three  months'  back  pay  in 
French  Victory  Bonds.  These  he  now  sold  on  the 
market  at  a  ruinous  rate  of  exchange.  He  dug  up 
the  deed  to  two  lots  in  his  home-town  which  he  sold 
at  twenty-five  dollars  apiece.  He  pared  his  ex- 
penses down  to  the  bone  and  husbanded  every 
penny  with  the  cool  hard  avarice  of  a  miser.  Him- 
self he  put  on  a  stiff  diet,  walked  instead  of  rode, 
and  even  eliminated  the  morning  paper. 

His  largest  item  of  expense  was  the  rental  of 
the  building.  After  a  scene  with  the  owner,  Di 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  139 

Palma,  a  suspicious,  grasping  little  old  Italian  Jew, 
who  owned  most  of  the  property  on  the  block,  he 
had  managed  to  stave  off  payment  for  another 
month.  He  had  two  other  outstanding  accounts  of 
considerable  size;  but  these  firms,  knowing  his 
friendship  with  Gilmore,  were  content  to  wait. 

One  result  of  this  severe  retrenchment  was  that 
presently  he  was  taken  down  with  a  cold.  The  first 
early  snowstorm  of  the  season,  far  ahead  of  its 
schedule,  caught  him  without  overcoat  or  umbrella, 
and  the  following  morning  he  awoke  with  a  sharp 
stabbing  pain  at  the  base  of  his  right  lung  which 
apprised  him  that  that  particular  piece  of  his  in- 
ternal machinery  had  gone  on  strike  again. 

"  It  never  rains  but  it  pours,"  he  growled,  striv- 
ing to  stand,  and  discovering  suddenly  a  blind  diz- 
ziness in  his  head.  "  Now  I've  got  to  stick  to  this 
hell-bed  and  promote  Annie  to  be  chief  of  staff." 
Which  he  did,  doling  out  the  quarters  with  a  frown- 
ing penuriousness  which  caused  the  freckled  little 
mulatto  first  to  thrust  out  a  disdainful  underlip,  and 
later,  when  she  discovered  the  reason,  to  forage  en- 
thusiastically in  his  behalf. 


i4o  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

In  times  past  Annie  had  stolen  from  him  what- 
ever odds  and  ends  in  his  room  had  caught  her 
greedy,  roving  black  eye.  Now  she  stole  for  him 
with  the  same  light-hearted  ease.  She  descended 
to  the  basement  kitchen  of  a  neighbouring  automat, 
presided  over  by  a  dusky  potentate  smitten  by  her 
charms,  and  tranquilly  purloined  such  delicacies  as 
she  deemed  might  tempt  a  sick  man's  jaundiced 
eye.  And  Sloane,  engrossed  in  his  own  troubles, 
ate  what  was  placed  before  him,  as  Elijah  did  in 
similar  plight,  without  enquiring  too  minutely  of 
his  dusky  little  rustler  as  to  how  the  commissary 
department  was  maintained. 

With  the  assistance  of  Annie,  Sloane  shaved 
pneumonia  by  a  narrow  margin.  But  by  this  time 
he  was  habituated  to  narrow  margins,  with  only 
the  width  of  a  knife-edge  between  him  and  com- 
plete catastrophe.  Moreover,  his  enforced  stay  in 
bed  had  enabled  him  to  arrive  at  a  conclusion  con- 
cerning the  intentions  of  King;  and  that  conclu- 
sion, baldly  stated,  was  that  King  intended  to  land 
on  him.  Why  he  should  wish  to  do  this  thing 
baffled  the  young  man  completely.  For  hours,  lying 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  141 

on  his  lumpy  mattress,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  leprous 
wall  opposite  from  which  the  plaster  was  peeling 
in  flakes,  he  turned  the  proposition  over  and  over 
in  his  mind,  regarding  it  from  every  conceivable 
angle,  but  without  discovering  a  light.  For  it  was 
not  possible  that  King  had  forgotten  his  final  words 
when  he  bade  Sloane  good-bye.  He  had  said, 
holding  Pinkney  jovially  by  the  arm: 

"  Well,  young  man,  you've  brought  it  off.  I 
thought  Gilmore  had  exaggerated  the  commercial 
possibilities  of  this  scheme — but  these  hard-headed 
old  Yankees  never  miss  a  trick.  I'm  going  off  on 
my  vacation — but  don't  let  that  hinder  you.  We'll 
shove  on  full  steam  ahead  in  this  business,  begin- 
ning from  to-day.  Lease  that  whole  building  for 
a  factory.  Start  the  carpenters  to  work.  Do  you 
know  where  you  can  get  trained  men  to  make  those 
pontoons  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Then  round  up  a  couple  of  dozen — as  many 
as  the  place  will  hold.  When  I  get  back  we'll  see 
about  larger  quarters.  But  right  now  what  we  want 
are  balloons.  I'll  deposit  some  money  to-day  to 


142  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

your  credit  for  current  expenses.  Don't  sell  any 
more  stock.  Later,  we'll  sign  the  papers  and  ar- 
range details." 

"If  everything's  settled,  why  can't  we  sign  right 
now  ?  "  demanded  Sloane  bluntly. 

"  Because  everything's  not  settled  yet — that's 
why,"  laughed  King.  "  You  can't  step  out  and  buy 
the  use  of  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  as  simply  as 
you'd  step  out  and  buy  a  pair  of  pants.  There  are 
conferences,  discussions  of  interest,  risks  and  guar- 
antees— no  end  of  technical  stuff.  But  you  leave 
that  to  me.  That's  my  end  of  the  game.  Your 
end,  from  now  on,  is  to  make  things  hum.  If  you 
want  anything,  go  to  Pym.  He  has  this  whole  busi- 
ness in  hand,  and  he  knows  my  intentions  better 
than  I  know  them  myself." 

Fine  words,  but  when  Sloane  came  to  cash  in  on 
them,  he  found  he  had  been  short-changed.  For 
although  he  had  duly  turned  over  the  agreed 
amount  of  stock  to  cover  the  advance  loan,  King, 
inadvertently  or  otherwise,  had  omitted  to  place  the 
promised  credit  at  the  bank.  Pinkney  could  not 
believe  that  it  was  inadvertent.  King  was  not  an 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  143 

inadvertent  kind  of  man.  In  addition,  Pym,  in  his 
letter,  had  expressly  stated  that  he  had  no  power 
to  act. 

At  the  end  of  a  month  of  dragging  inactivity,  he 
had  written  a  note  to  King's  partner,  stating 
briefly  his  situation,  and  asking  him  to  wireless  the 
substance  of  the  letter  to  King.  To  this  Pym  re- 
plied briefly  but  courteously  that  he  had  complied 
with  the  request  and  would  forward  the  answer 
when  it  came. 

But  the  answer  failed  to  materialise.  At  this 
point  of  the  proceedings,  there  is  no  doubt  that, 
had  it  not  been  for  Celia,  Sloane  would  have  broken 
with  King  and  gone  his  own  way.  But  he  told  him- 
self he  had  no  right  to  judge  her  father  on  any 
such  light,  airy,  and  insubstantial  evidence,  which 
ten  frank  words  might  dissipate.  King,  according 
to  all  reports,  was  a  sick  man — a  sick  man,  more- 
over with  many  irons  in  the  fire.  There  was  noth- 
ing for  it  but  courage  and  patience  until  time 
should  untangle  the  snarl. 


CHAPTER  TWELVE 

ONE  morning  he  was  sitting  in  his  office,  listless 
and  brooding,  when  the  friendly  secretary  of  Mr. 
Pym  rang  up,  without  orders,  to  inform  him  of  the 
arrival  of  Mr.  King.  Sloane,  with  a  stir  of  excite- 
ment at  his  pulse,  thanked  her  with  enthusiasm,  reso- 
lutely brushed  from  his  mind  any  lingering  cobwebs 
of  doubt,  and  then  hung  around  within  arm's  reach 
of  the  telephone  all  day.  But  no  summons  came. 
And  the  mail  brought  him  only  bills.  Passed  ten 
feverish,  interminable  days  with  their  monotonous 
processional  of  linked  hours,  while  his  taut  nerves 
were  strung  to  the  breaking-point — and  still  King 
made  no  sign.  And  Sloane  likewise  made  no  sign. 

He  had  already  come  to  the  end  of  his  financial 
tether,  and  his  men  had  not  been  paid  for  a  week. 
Di  Palma  had  taken  to  dogging  his  footsteps.  He 
waylaid  Sloane  on  the  street,  threatened,  snarled, 

and  all  but  wept  as  he  demanded  his  rent. 

144 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  145 

Finally,  when  he  had  given  up  hope,  a  letter  from 
King  arrived,  enquiring  if  Sloane  were  dead,  and 
if  not,  would  he  favour  their  office  with  a  call. 

"  I  tried  to  get  you,"  said  King  when  Sloane  pre- 
sented himself,  "but  your  'phone  seems  out  of 
order." 

"  It  is,"  assented  Sloane  briefly. 

It  had  been  discontinued  for  lack  of  funds  three 
days  before.  He  sat  back  in  his  chair  and  waited 
for  King  to  fire  the  first  gun.  In  the  meantime,  his 
busy  eyes  took  note  of  the  fact  that  the  older  man 
had  changed.  His  face  was  older,  thinner,  greyer. 
The  skin  about  his  temples  seemed  to  have  shrunk, 
as  if  from  a  wasting  fever,  and  clung  fast  to  the 
conforming  bone;  and  all  about  him  was  a  hard, 
wrung  look  of  deadly  purpose,  as  if  he  were  pay- 
ing out  his  last  reserves.  But  it  was  his  eyes  which 
shocked  Sloane.  The  flame  within  them  still  per- 
sisted; but  the  look  of  violence,  of  a  ceaseless  strug- 
gle going  on  in  the  dark  fastnesses  of  his  mind, 
was  stronger  than  ever  before.  He  was  a  sick,  dan- 
gerous man — and  all  the  more  dangerous  because 
he  was  sick. 


146  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

Sloane,  sensing  this,  made  the  first  advance. 

"  I  hope,  sir,  you've  had  a  good  summer?  " 

King's  voice  as  he  replied  was  easy,  but  very 
dry. 

"  Summer  and  winter  with  me  are  pretty  much 
the  same  thing — twenty- four  hours  in  every  day; 
twenty-four  chances  for  a  man  to  make  a  fool  of 
himself.  I  hear  you  met  my  daughter  ?  " 

Pinkney  flushed  to  the  roots  of  his  hair. 

"  Yes — yes,  sir,"  he  stammered,  fairly  caught  by 
surprise.  He  wondered  how  King  had  come  by  the 
information.  Did  that  explain  his  carefully  cov- 
ered antagonism,  the  easy  insolence  of  his  tones? 

"  I — we  saw  each  other  a  number  of  times.  At 
Hunter's  Ranch.  Great  place!  I  sat  at  table  with 
your  daughter  for  two  weeks  before  she  even  marked 
that  I  was  there."  He  ran  on  hurriedly,  under 
King's  eyes  which  gleamed  bright  as  live  coals  un- 
der the  beetling  ridge  of  his  brow.  "Miss  King  de- 
serves a  great  deal  of  credit  for  continuing  her  war- 
work  now." 

King  grunted,  lifting  high  one  sardonic  eyebrow. 

"  If  you  think  my  daughter's  doing  that  from  any 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  147 

lofty  patriotic  motive,  you  don't  know  that  young 
woman,  not  by  a  long  chalk.  She's  doing  it  to 
please  herself — and  to  infuriate  me.  When  the  war 
broke  out,  I  wanted  her  to  stay  at  home  where 
women  belong.  She'd  already  taken  up  nursing — 
as  a  fad.  I  offered  to  pay  for  a  whole  nursing  unit 
to  go  in  her  place.  She  took  up  my  offer — and  then 
had  the  confounded  nerve  to  enroll  herself  as  one 
of  the  nurses  in  the  outfit.  And  when  I  quashed 
that,  she  blew  off  to  Washington,  pulled  wires,  used 
my  name"  and  influence,  and  signed  up  to  go  over 
as  a  nurse — though  I  telegraphed  to  a  friend  of  mine 
down  there  to  head  her  off.  Well,  after  the  war, 
I  thought  she'd  quit — along  with  the  rest  of  the 
amateurs.  But  not  Celia.  She  hung  on,  simply  to 
exasperate  me — and  wound  Pym."  , 

He  noted  the  young  man's  sudden  start,  and  his 
eyes  gleamed  as  he  continued  his  indictment. 

"  She's  kept  my  partner  dangling  after  her  now 
for  two  years,  and  every  time  he  sets  a  day  for  the 
wedding  she  flies  right  off  the  track.  He's  too  easy 
with  her,  and  that's  the  whole  case  in  a  nutshell.  I 
tell  you  this  frankly,  Mr.  Sloane,  because  Miss  Tau- 


14$  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

ser  wrote  me  that  you  and  my  daughter  had  met 
'  out  on  that  ranch,  and  it  is  only  justice  to  all  con- 
cerned that  you  should  know  exactly  how  the  land 
lies.  My  daughter  is  bound  in  honour  to  my  partner, 
Mr.  Pym.  But  I'll  venture  she  never  once  men- 
tioned to  you  that  salient  little  fact — eh,  what?" 

He  smiled  suddenly,  showing  his  teeth. 

Sloane  sat  silent,  his  colour  high.  He  admitted 
that  this  Pym-business  shook  him.  It  could  not  be 
denied  that  Celia  had  kept  her  own  counsel  about 
this  elderly  suitor  who  had  suddenly  loomed  in  sight. 
Were  all  girls  secretive  like  that?  Aloud  he  said, 
with  an  attempt  at  lightness: 

"  I  suppose  she  thought  it  was  not  my  affair.  I 
don't  know  that  it  is.  Or  perhaps,"  he  added  with 
a  short  laugh,  "she  doesn't  know  she's  bound  in 
honour  to  Mr.  Pym." 

"  The  engagement  was  publicly  announced  and 
then  withdrawn.  It  left  Pym  in  a  fix.  But  women 
have  no  honour." 

"  I  think  that  we  may  leave  Miss  King  to  be  the 
custodian  of  her  own  honour.  And  if  Mr.  Pym 
doesn't  like  to  dangle,  he  knows  what  he  can  do." 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  149 

"  Well,"  said  King  impatiently,  dismissing  the 
subject  with  a  sideways  jerk  of  the  head,  "Celia  and 
Pym  will  have  to  paddle  their  own  canoe,  and  I 
expect  Celia  will  do  most  of  the  paddling  if  she 
resembles  the  rest  of  her  sex.  They're  not  content 
until  they've  got  a  fellow  thumbs-down.  What 
most  of  'em  want  is  not  a  man  but  a  kissing-stick. 
But  now  about  our  business,  Mr.  Sloane.  How's 
everything  going?" 

He  was  staring  down  at  the  table,  a  faint  smile 
upon  his  lips. 

"  It's  not  going.     It's  standing  strictly  still." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

King  played  with  a  paper-knife,  his  eyes  lowered. 
But  Sloane  could  feel  mischief  in  him — mischief  and 
power. 

"  Well,"  retorted  Pinkney  with  heat,  "  you  can't 
get  very  far  without  cash,  and  I  had  no  cash.  You 
omitted  to  make  that  deposit  you  promised,  and  I 
spent  all  I  had  on  those  alterations." 

"  Why  didn't  you  go  to  Pym?  " 

"  Mr.  Pym  said  he  had  no  power  in  this  affair. 
Here's  his  letter." 


150  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

King  waved  it  negligently  away. 

"  Oversight,"  he  explained.  "  It's  this  damned 
sleeplessness  of  mine."  He  turned  on  the  young 
man  suddenly,  gnawing  his  lip.  "  I  may  as  well 
tell  you — I'm  in  hell,  Sloane,  and  have  been  for 
months,  and  I  can't  seem  to  get  out.  But  I'll  get 
out  yet !  A'nd  I'll  get  out  in  my  own  way !  "  He 
paused,  glooming  and  working  his  chin,  then 
dropped  the  subject  abruptly  and  demanded,  "You're 
not  in  debt?" 

"  Not  to  any  extent." 

"  And  you've  not  sold  any  stock?  " 

"  Everything's  exactly  as  I  represented  to  you, 
except  for  a  few  floating  debts  that  we  can  wipe  out 
any  time." 

King's  great  gaunt  eyes  stare'd  at  him.  Sloane 
fancied  that  he  perceived  a  shade  of  disappointment 
lurking  in  their  sombre  depths,  but  he  could  not 
be  sure. 

"  Well,  then,"  King  said  with  a  'dry  rasp  in  his 
voice,  "  we'll  go  ahead.  I've  arranged  with  Chapin 
of  the  Central  Trust  about  the  loan.  It  wasn't 
easy.  Money  is  scarce  and  high.  It's  the  inter- 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  151 

national  situation,  partly.  Partly,  it's  because  this 
last  year  every  Tom,  Dick,  and  Harry  in  town 
have  gone  into  foreign  trade  on  a  shoe-string,  and 
are  asking  the  banks  to  carry  them.  They've  skyed 
call-money  until  it's  a  crime.  That's  the  general 
situation  on  the  banking  side.  Now  let's  take  your 
side. 

"Your  enterprise — let's  face  the  facts  fairly — 
is  still  up  in  the  air.  Its  chief  backer  is  dead.  It 
may  be  worth  something  some  day,  and,  personally, 
I  believe  it  will.  If  I  didn't,  I  wouldn't  be  indors- 
ing it  now.  And  you'll  admit  that  the  indorsement 
of  Klaggett  King  is  worth  something — eh  ?  " 

Sloane  who  saw  only  too  clearly  the  drift  of  this 
argument  squared  his  jaw  in  defiance. 

"  The  Comptroller  of  the  Currency,"  declared  he, 
"testified  the  other  day  that  usury  in  call-money 
in  New  York  is  gripping  the  heart  of  all  honest 
commerce.  He  said  that  under  the  control  of  cer- 
tain private  financiers,  credit  is  administered,  not 
primarily  to  serve  the  needs  of  production,  but  from 
the  desire  of  financial  agencies  to  levy  a  toll  on 
industry  as  high  as  the  traffic  will  bear." 


152  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

"  Talk,"  replied  King  with  a  sneer,  "  is  the  cheap- 
est commodity  on  earth.  You're  not  obliged  to 
take  up  this  loan,  Mr.  Sloane." 

"  I  know,"  muttered  Pinkney,  breathing  hard, 
"  and  I'm  not  going  to  unless  I  like  the  terms." 

"If  you  think  you  can  make  a  more  advan- 
tageous bargain  than  I  can,  just  go  around  to  the 
banks  and  try." 

He  spoke  easily  but  there  was  an  edge  of 
mockery,  of  hidden  menace  in  his  tones  which 
whipped  the  red  into  Sloane's  cheek.  They  were 
fighting  now,  man  to  man. 

"  The  trouble  with  you  young  high-fliers  with 
ideas,"  he  continued  coolly,  "  is  that  you  consider 
money  of  no  account;  and  you  seem  to  think  that 
just  because  you've  got  some  wild  scheme  in  your 
head  that  the  banks  should  ladle  out  cash  for  the 
asking — that  it's  your  divine  right.  Well,  speaking 
from  the  vantage  of  over  twenty  years  of  practical 
experience,  I  want  to  say  that  you're  just  about 
one  hundred  percent  dead  wrong. 

"  An  idea — what  is  it  ?  An  unknown  quantity. 
It  may  have  been  kicking  around  the  gutters  of 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  153 

the  world  for  ages  before  you  pick  it  up  and  wipe 
off  the  verdigris.  But  go  in  and  try  to  buy  your 
breakfast  on  it  in  its  raw  state,  hand  it  to  the  waiter 
in  lieu  of  cash,  and  see  how  quick  you're  hustled 
to  the  door.  An  idea's  no  good  to  anybody  until 
it's  proved  up  on,  developed,  cashed.  But  a  bank 
takes  a  risk  in  proving  up  on  an  unknown  idea — 
and  somebody's  got  to  pay  for  that  risk.  You're 
too  broad-gauged  a  man  not  to  see  that." 

He  pressed  a  buzzer  and  said  to  the  suave,  sleek- 
headed  young  man  who  appeared: 

"Jackson,  get  those  papers  that  came  over  from 
the  Central  Trust." 

As  the  secretary  disappeared,  King  leaned  back 
in  his  chair  and  smiled — a  smile  that  flashed  like 
summer  lightning  over  his  heavy  pallid  features 
and  was  gone. 

"You  don't  look  like  one  of  these  half-baked 
idealists,  Sloane,"  said  he.  "  You  look  like  a  first- 
class  compromiser — a  man  who  can  see  both  sides 
of  a  question  at  once,  his  own  point  of  view  and 
the  other  fellow's  as  well." 

Pinkney,  brooding  stilly  in  his  chair,  wondered 


154  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

just  how  much  stock  they  intended  to  rob  him  of 
to  pay  for  the  use  of  the  loan.  If  King  could  joke 
like  that,  it  must  be  a  whacking  fat  lot.  Probably 
they'd  take  over  the  whole  show  and  run  it  to  please 
themselves.  They'd  put  in  directors,  and  treasurers, 
business-managers,  and  half  a  dozen  pro-deputy- 
vice-presidents,  each  with  a  neat  block  of  stock; 
and  they  would  outvote  him,  and  stick  around  and 
boss  and  badger  him,  and  he  would  have  to  ask  the 
permission  of  the  whole  gang  in  order  even  to  blow 
his  nose.  Was  he,  Pinkney  Sloane,  going  to  stick 
his  head  into  that  kind  of  a  noose?  Of  course,  he 
could  reject  the  terms.  But  in  that  event  King 
could  come  down  upon  him  like  a  ton  of  bricks 
with  his  bill  for  services  rendered.  And  if  the 
Sloane  Salvage  Company  did  not  immediately  come 
across  with  the  coin,  he  could  throw  it  into  the 
bankruptcy  court,  and  have  it  sold  up  at  public 
auction — inventions,  patents,  shares,  and  all  the 
rest  This  was  the  deeper  pit,  whose  blackness  he 
had  only  half -glimpsed  hitherto.  He  did  not  like 
the  looks  of  that  pit,  and  so  aloud  he  replied 
soberly : 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  155 

;'  Yes,  I'm  a  compromiser — up  to  a  certain  point. 
But  I'll  fight  for  what's  mine.  And  if  anybody 
takes  it  away  from  me,  it'll  only  be  because  he's 
bigger  or  has  better  brains." 

"That's  the  stuff,"  said  King  with  an  acrid 
smile.  "  Life's  a  bear-pit.  Fight  and  lick  or  get 
licked." 

Sloane  uttered  a  short  laugh. 

"  Or  shin  up  a  tree !  "  He  paused,  seeing  King's 
mouth  twist  off  in  a  sudden  spasm  of  pain. 

The  older  man  sighed.  His  heavy,  slightly  em- 
purpled lids  drooped  down  over  his  cavernous  eyes, 
shutting  in  his  restless,  embittered  spirit.  His  face 
twitched  a  moment,  then  became  still. 

Sloane  studied  the  impassive  mask  before  him 
with  feelings  torn  between  pity  and  scorn.  He 
knew  now  that  King  intended  to  break  him,  or 
subjugate  his  will;  but  he  still  could  not  tell 
why.  He  wondered.  .  .  .  How  dreadfully  thin 
he  was !  .  .  . 

For  perhaps  a  full  minute  the  older  man  slum- 
bered, his  head  sagging  down,  with  sundry  small 
jerks,  toward  his  breast.  Then  he  opened  one  eye. 


156  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

His  iris  widened;  he  regarded  the  young  man 
fixedly  for  a  space. 

"Was  I  asleep?" 

Sloane  nodded  his  head,  without  speaking. 

The  door  opened  and  the  secretary  entered  with 
a  sheaf  of  papers  which  King  took  and  ran  through 
rapidly. 

"  All  right,"  he  announced  briskly.  "  Chapin  and 
the  others  have  signed  already.  Have  you  got 
duplicate  copies,  Jackson  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.     They're  underneath." 

"  Then  send  in  the  notary.  And  tell  Mr.  Pym 
to  step  this  way.  Return  yourself  as  a  witness. 
Mr.  Sloane/'  he  went  on,  still  briskly,  "  you'll  ob- 
serve that  Chapin,  Pym,  myself,  and  a  few  others 
have  taken  some  stock  in  this  concern,  and  I've  re- 
organised it  along  lines  which  I  feel  is  for  its  best 
prosperity.  You'll  probably  want  to  have  a  look 
at  these  documents  before  you  sign  on  the  dotted 
line?" 

"  Two  or  three  looks — if  you  don't  mind." 

"  Look  as  hard  and  as  long  as  you  like,"  replied 
King  carelessly.  "  And  if  you  look  long  and  hard 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  157 

enough  you'll  realise  that  your  best  interests  lie  in 
signing  those  agreements  as  drawn.  Jackson,  show 
Mr.  Sloane  to  a  private  room  where  he  won't  be 
disturbed." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  I  think,"  said  Sloane,  rising,  "  that  I'd  prefer 
to  go  through  them  at  home." 

He  found  his  heart  beating  furiously,  and  with 
a  flash  he  realised  what  was  the  matter  with  King : 
he  killed  people's  wills.  That  was  why  he  disliked 
Celia :  she  opposed  his  will.  That  was  why  he  liked 
Pym:  the  man  was  an  automaton  with  a  brain. 
What  he  had  been  striving  for,  with  all  this  flow 
of  ironic  small  talk,  was  to  blunt  the  sharp  edge 
of  resistance  he  had  sensed  in  the  young  man.  And 
Sloane  admitted  his  power.  It  had  required  a  des- 
perate effort  on  his  part  to  rise,  to  oppose  that  quiet 
formidable  will. 

"  Take  them  home  by  all  means,"  agreed  King 
dryly.  "And  if  you  don't  like  the  terms — for  I 
can  see  you've  got  something  stuck  in  your  craw — 
remember  two  things.  First,  you're  a  free  agent 
and  you're  not  obliged  to  accept  those  terms. 


158  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

Second,  if  you  want  money  these  days,  you've  got: 
to  pay  for  it.  That's  all.  But  don't  keep  those 
bankers  too  long  on  their  knees.  They're  not  used 
to  the  attitude  of  prayer ! " 

He  rose,  shook  hands  with  Sloane,  and  with  a 
certain  sardonic  geniality,  even  accompanied  him 
as  far  as  the  elevator,  and  stood  chatting,  chaffing, 
cracking  jokes,  exerting  all  his  magnetism,  while 
several  cars  passed.  Presently  he  drew  forth  his 
watch,  exclaimed  at  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  and 
proposed  lunch  together.  It  required  all  of  Sloane's 
determination  to  tear  himself  away  from  that  hyp- 
notic will. 

Arrived  at  his  room,  he  sat  down  and  went  care- 
fully through  the  terms  of  agreement.  They  were 
far  worse  than  he  feared.  By  imperceptible  degrees 
he  had  veered  around  to  the  point  where  he  was 
willing  to  pay,  and  even  to  pay  high  for  the  use  of 
money  to  enlarge  his  plant.  But  this  arrangement 
snuffed  him  out  completely.  He  was  not  even  a 
figure-head.  They  had  made  him — manager  of  the 
factory!  First  came  King,  president  of  the  re- 
organised company;  then  Chapin,  vice-president; 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  159 

then  Chapin's  right-hand  man ;  then  Pym ;  and  then 
— God  save  the  mark ! — down  at  the  very  foot,  the 
founder  of  the  company,  Pinkney  Sloane.  "  They'd 
have  thrown  me  out  altogether,  if  they'd  dared,"  he 
muttered  bitterly,  "  but  they're  afraid  something 
might  go  wrong  with  the  patents  and  pontoons,  and 
in  order  to  guard  against  that  they've  made  me 
Lord  High  Custodian  of  the  Spittoon!" 

He  sat,  deadly  pale,  gnawing  his  lip  as  he  went 
over  and  over  the  terms  which  sheared  him  of 
power  but  left  him  heavy  responsibility. 

Finally  he  arose  and  went  out  into  the  street, 
despair  in  his  heart.  For  hours  he  tramped  the 
pavement,  heedless  of  a  light  dry  snow  which,  fall- 
ing shadowily,  touched  the  angles  of  his  hurrying 
figure  with  a  silhouette  of  ghostly  white.  His  rage, 
as  he  walked,  mounted,  bitter  as  gall.  He  went 
over  and  over  the  situation  from  the  beginning, 
fighting  his  way  step  by  step,  as  one  fights  fantastic 
battles  in  a  nightmare. 

Once,  momentarily,  he  came  to  himself  in  a  de- 
serted night  square,  beside  a  dry  stone  fountain, 
speaking  aloud  to  the  naked  dim  forms  of  trees, 


160  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

as  if  he  were  defending  his  case  before  a  court  of 
justice;  and  as  he  talked  he  struck  his  knuckles 
against  the  stone  coping  of  the  fountain  until  they 
bled  without  any  awareness  of  what  he  did. 

When  at  length  he  returned  to  his  room,  stag- 
gering from  fatigue,  he  found  himself  resolved  on 
one  step.  He  would  break  off  relations  with  Klag- 
gett  King.  With  this  decision  fixed,  he  took  the 
terms  of  agreement,  and  standing  with  his  hat  on, 
in  his  snowy  clothes,  he  tore  them  foursquare, 
thrust  the  fragments  into  an  envelope,  addressed, 
sealed  and  stamped  it,  then  descended  to  the  street 
and  posted  it  in  the  corner-box. 

This  done,  he  returned  and  prepared  for  bed. 
As  he  reached  up  to  turn  out  the  gas-jet,  his  eye 
caught  a  glimpse  of  something  white  under  the 
door.  He  stooped  and  picked  it  up.  It  was  a  letter 
from  Celia.  The  envelope  bore  the  wet  imprint 
of  his  snowy  heel  where  he  had  trodden  it  down 
as  he  entered  the  room.  He  brushed  it  off  care- 
fully with  his  handkerchief,  and  opened  it,  stand- 
ing under  the  flaring  gas-jet. 

It  began  with  two  words,  with  a  girlish  dash  be- 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  161 

tween.  And  those  two  words,  with  their  sweet 
confession,  melted  the  heavy  frozen  lump  that  was 
his  heart,  and  warmed  his  blood  like  wine.  What 
followed  was  just  as  good.  He  raced  avidly 
through  the  four  closely  written  pages  to  achieve 
their  general  tenor,  after  which  he  sat  down  to  a 
more  leisurely  perusal  and  to  luxuriate  in  those 
particular  portions  which  he  characterised  as  "  sweet 
spots."  It  was  his  first  real  love-letter  from  Celia. 
Notes  he  had  received  before,  precious,  gay,  absurd 
little  nothings — Cupid's  pin-feathers,  he  called  them 
— as  alluring  as  Celia  herself,  but  containing  noth- 
ing to  sustain  a  hungry  man.  They  were,  in  fact, 
mere  teasers.  But  in  this  letter,  Celia,  as  if  she 
sensed  his  need,  let  herself  go,  and  it  was  a  whole 
divine  meal.  He  sat  long  over  it,  King  and  his 
company  forgotten,  wrapped  in  dreams.  .  .  . 


CHAPTER  THIRTEEN 

IT  was  well  for  him  that  he  received  this  rein- 
forcement of  the  spirit,  for  in  the  next  few  days 
he  found  himself  ground  between  the  upper  and  the 
nether  millstone  of  necessity,  and  with  no  visible 
means  of  extricating  himself.  He  was  roused  the 
next  morning  at  an  early  hour  by  Annie,  who  an- 
nounced he  was  wanted  on  the  telephone.  And 
when,  a  few  minutes  later,  he  placed  the 
receiver  to  his  ear,  he  heard  his  foreman's  anxious 
voice : 

"Say,  Major,  can  you  get  down  right  away?" 

"  Yes.     What's  up,  O'Connor?  " 

"It's  that  dirty  little  shrimp,  Di  Palma.  He's 
locked  us  out." 

"  Is  he  down  there  now  ?  " 

"You  bet — big  as  life  and  snarling  like  a  cor- 
nered wildcat.  The  men  started  to  rough-house 
him  and  he  hollered  for  a  cop.  Said  you  hadn't 

ife 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  163 

paid  your  rent,  and  I  don't  know  what  all.  I 
wanted  to  hand  him  a  couple  on  the  jaw — but  I 
figured  that  mightn't  do  you  any  good.  Shall  I, 
just  for  luck?  " 

"  Not  yet,"  laughed  Sloane.  He  thought  a  mo- 
ment deeply.  "  O'Connor." 

"Yes,  sir?" 

"  Dismiss  the  men." 

"  I've  done  that  already,  Major.  I  told  them 
you'd  square  things  up  with  them  all  right.  But 
they  know  that.  I  told  them  a  rotten  little  egg  like 
Di  Palma  couldn't  get  away  with  a  regular  fellow 
like  you.  It  was  then  they  started  to  rough-house 
the  wop  and  he  yelled  for  the  police." 

"  Fine-o ! "  murmured  Sloane.  "I'll  be  right 
down." 

"  Can  I  tell  the  wop  you're  coming  down  to  fix 
him?" 

"  Sure !    Scare  him  out  of  his  hide." 

He  took  a  cross-town  car  and  arrived  on  the 
scene  to  find  O'Connor  and  the  policeman,  seventy- 
two  inches  of  blue-eyed  Irish  brawn,  in  close  and 
jovial  confab,  while  the  little  Italian,  his  eyes 


164  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

flaming  like  those  of  a  cornered  rat,  stood  on  guard 
before  the  padlocked  door. 

"  There's  the  boss,"  exclaimed  O'Connor,  as 
Sloane  swung  lithely  down  from  the  car.  "  Now, 
wop,  watch  out !  " 

Pinkney  ignored  the  savage,  glowering  little  man, 
and  addressed  himself  directly  to  the  guardian  of 
the  law. 

"  Officer,  this  man  has  no  legal  right  to  lock  the 
door  of  this  house." 

"  And  that's  what  I  told  the  dirty  little  shrimp!  " 
cried  O'Connor  triumphantly. 

"  It's  true  I  owe  him  for  the  rent.  But  he  can't 
dispossess  me  without  due  process  of  law.  He 
can't  take  the  law  into  his  own  hands  like  this. 
Where's  his  writ?  That  man's  guilty  of  misde- 
meanour right  now.  I've  a  good  mind  to  have  you 
run  him  in." 

The  officer's  keen  blue  eyes  glimmered  with  en- 
joyment, as  he  said : 

"  And  I  guess  you're  right  at  that,  Major." 

He  winked  broadly  at  O'Connor,  stepped  over  to 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  165 

Di  Palma,  prodded  him  good-naturedly  in  the  ribs 
with  his  stick,  and  said: 

"  Show  me  your  writ,  Spaghetti." 

But  Di  Palma,  it  appeared,  had  no  writ.  He 
explained,  in  a  venomous  burst  of  broken  English, 
that  this  was  his  house,  and  he  had  a  right  to  lock 
it  when  he  pleased. 

The  officer  listened  to  the  tirade  with  calm 
judicial  contempt 

"Shall  I  run  him  in,  Major?"  he  enquired  at 
the  close. 

"Yes!"  cried  O'Connor. 

"  No,"  said  Sloane  with  a  laugh.  "  Just  tell  him 
to  open  that  door  and  then  make  tracks  out  of  here." 

Di  Palma  unlocked  the  door  with  fingers  that 
shook  with  rage. 

"  Mr.  Di  Palma,"  said  Sloane,  "  I'm  going  in 
after  my  private  papers,  and  after  that  you're  free 
to  lock  up  this  place  and  plaster  dispossess  notices 
all  over  the  shop." 

"I'm  goin'  to  sue  you!"  promised  Di  Palma 
thickly. 


166  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

"  Sue  and  be  damned.  But  you  get  out  of  here 
right  now  or  I'll  break  every  bone  in  your  body — 
see?" 

The  little  man  backed  away  precipitately,  shrilling 
venomous  threats. 

"  You're  dead  wrong,  Major !  "  protested  O'Con- 
nor's earnest  voice  in  his  ear.  "  You  ought  to  run 
him  in  when  you  got  a  chance.  He's  a  trouble- 
maker. I  can  tell  by  the  red  danger-lights  in  his 
eye.  He's  going  to  hurt  you  if  he  gets  a  show." 

They  entered  the  office  and  Sloane  squatted  be- 
fore the  safe  and  began  to  empty  papers  into  a  wire 
basket.  He  looked  up  to  his  foreman  to  say: 

"  You'd  better  hunt  another  job." 

O'Connor's  fresh  face  paled.  "What?"  he 

faltered.  "Why,  Major — is  it Are  you — ?" 

He  gasped  in  pure  dismay. 

"  Busted  ?  I  don't  know  yet.  If  I'm  not  busted, 
I'm  pretty  badly  cracked.  But  Di  Palma  can't 
make  me  or  break  me.  I'm  in  too  deep  for  that." 

O'Connor's  jaw  was  still  dropped. 

"  Well,"  said  he  with  a  forced  laugh,  "  it  never 
rains  but  it  pours." 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  1*7 

Sloane  stood  up. 

"Why?"  he  demanded.  "Does  my  smash  hit 
you?" 

"  In  a  way "  acknowledged  O'Connor  with  a 

troubled  face. 

"How?" 

"  My  wife's  gone  to  the  hospital.  First  baby. 
And  you  know  what  sink-holes  for  dropping  money 
into  thpse  places  are.  I  sold  off  my  last  Liberty 
Bond.  I  figured  it  was  all  right  because " 

"  I  see,"  said  Sloane.  "  You  figured  the  Sloane 
Salvage  Company  was  going  to  make  good.  How 
much  have  you  got  invested  down  here?  " 

"  Not  much.  Not  enough  to  raise  a  howl  about. 
And  I'm  not  squealing,  Major.  It's  just  that  this 
thing  sort  of  took  me  by  surprise." 

"  How  much  cash  have  you  got?  " 

O'Connor  mentioned  the  sum,  and  Sloane 
breathed  relief. 

"  Well,  that'll  hold  you  until  I  find  a  job.  After 
that,  I'll  turn  over  half  of  my  pay  until  we  get  past 
this  kink " 

"  Never  in  your  life !    But,  Major,"  his  eyes  were 


i68  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

eager,  "could  you  find  me  a  job  working  with 
you?" 

"  I'll  see.  What  I'd  like  is  to  take  charge  of  a 
diving-crew.  Some  of  that  apparatus  is  as  old- 
fashioned  as  Noah's  ark,  and  if  I  could  study  the 

practical  workings  for  a  while "  He  stuffed  the 

papers  into  his  pocket  and  moved  toward  the  door. 
"Well,  we'll  see.  Don't  bother  your  wife  about 
this." 

"  Not  likely!  "  laughed  O'Connor.  "  She  thinks 
the  Sloane  Salvage  Company  is  the  greatest  little 
concern  on  earth,  and  that  you  and  I  have  the 
Carnegie-Schwab  outfit  nailed  to  the  mast  and 
screaming  for  help.  She  keeps  track  of  every  ship 
that  goes  down  between  San  Francisco  and  Bombay. 
She  has  a  map  with  pins  stuck  in,  and  the  name 
of  the  wreck,  its  tonnage,  cargo,  and  the  depth  of 
water  it  foundered  in.  Talk  of  the  pot  of  gold 
at  the  end  of  the  rainbow!  It's  not  in  it  with  the 
wealth  Minnie's  figured  out  for  us  that's  lying  at 
the  bottom  of  the  sea.  What  do  you  think  is  the 
last  idea  she's  got  in  her  head?" 

"  Don't  know,"  muttered  Sloane,  to  whom  this 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  169 

friendly  turning  of  the  knife  in  the  wound  was  raw 
agony. 

"  That  we'll  lift  the  Lusitania! " 

"  And  why  not  ?  "  cried  Sloane  sharply.  "  Other 
firms  have  figured  on  it.  Why  shouldn't  we  ?  " 

"  I'm  willing,"  murmured  O'Connor  with  a  laugh. 

The  two  men,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  moved  out 
into  the  street.  Pinkney  signalled  a  car,  and  with 
a  hasty  "  If  I  find  something,  I'll  let  you  know  " 
sprang  aboard.  It  was  while  searching  in  his 
pocket  for  his  fare  that  he  brought  forth,  in  much 
surprise,  a  wad  consisting  of  two  tightly  twisted 
bills  which  had  not  been  there  before.  Smoothed 
out,  the  greasy  little  strangers  introduced  them- 
selves as  two  five-dollar  bills. 

"  And  they  wonder,"  murmured  Sloane,  "  why 
God  loves  the  Irish ! " 

In  due  course  of  time,  involuntary  petitions  in 
bankruptcy  were  filed  by  two  sets  of  creditors 
against  the  Sloane  Salvage  Company.  One  of  the 
creditors  was  Di  Palma,  with  a  claim  for  two 
months'  rent,  and  the  accounts  of  the  two  firms  to 


170  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

which  Sloane  was  most  heavily  indebted,  which  the 
shrewd  little  Italian,  acting  under  instructions  from 
Klaggett  King,  had  bought  in.  In  all,  a  sum 
totalling  upwards  of  four  thousand  dollars.  The 
second  creditor,  represented  by  a  legal  firm  of  in- 
ternational reputation,  was  Klaggett  King,  whose 
bill  for  services  rendered  amounted  to  two  thousand 
dollars. 

The  offices  of  the  Sloane  Salvage  Company  were 
closed,  but  to  one  industrious  reporter  who  tracked 
him  to  his  lair,  the  young  bankrupt  admitted  grimly 
that  he  guessed  he  had  bitten  off  more  than  he  could 
chew.  And  thus  he  was  heralded  in  the  chief  morn- 
ing dailies: 

"  Smart  young  man  bites  off  more  than  he  can 
chew!" 

Sloane  smiled  painfully  when  he  read  the  caustic 
pleasantry,  and  reflected  that,  to  be  strictly  accu- 
rate, the  headline  should  have  read :  "  Smart  young 
man  bites  off  more  than  he  can  chew  and  gets 
skinned  alive  by  Klaggett  King." 

He  did  not,  however,  reveal  to  the  reporter  the 
direct  and  intimate  connection  between  his  failure 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  171 

and  Klaggett  King,  nor  yet  the  results  of  his  visit 
down  to  the  financial  district  after  his  rejection  of 
the  latter' s  offer.  For  he  had  tried  to  borrow 
money  on  his  own  prospects  in  order  to  dam  the 
flowing  black  tide  of  adversity,  and  he  discovered, 
like  many  a  better  man  before  him,  that  to  need 
money  desperately  is  the  best  means  of  scaring  it 
away.  The  temperature  in  those  small  rooms  with 
"  Private  "  marked  on  the  glass  doors,  where  to  im- 
passive, saurian-eyed  brahmins  of  high  finance  he 
explained  the  nature  of  his  errand,  fell  so  rapidly 
that  Sloane,  regaining  the  street,  turned  up  his 
overcoat  collar,  concluding  it  was  about  to  hail,  and 
was  astounded  to  find  the  sun  still  up  in  the  sky 
and  doing  business  at  the  same  old  stand.  The 
black  frost  belt  began  at  the  bank's  revolving-doors. 
The  bottom  fact  was  that  Pinkney  Sloane,  under 
the  powerful  protection  of  Gilmore  and  backed  by 
Klaggett  King,  and  Pinkney  Sloane,  impecunious 
young  inventor  with  a  financial  axe  to  grind,  were 
two  vastly  different  persons.  And  that  difference 
was  demonstrated  with  brutality  and  despatch  when 
he  tried  to  borrow  money  or  sell  stock. 


172  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

Had  the  fact  leaked  out  of  his  disagreement  with 
Klaggett  King?  Had  King  himself  disseminated 
the  report  that,  after  all,  the  project  was  not  so 
sound?  Sloane  had  no  means  of  ascertaining,  but 
it  was  significant  that  he  found  all  financial  avenues 
blocked.  It  might  be  simply  the  long  arm  of  coin- 
cidence, but  he  grimly  suspected  that  the  shoulder- 
socket  from  which  the  long  arm  began  to  reach  was 
the  private  office  of  Klaggett  King. 

In  Gilmore's  office,  whither  he  had  turned  in  the 
crisis,  he  fared  little  better.  Gilmore's  partner, 
Chapman,  was  on  the  continent,  his  return  uncer- 
tain. Nor  was  Sloane  at  all  certain  that  Chapman 
shared  his  late  partner's  enthusiasm  for  the  Sloane 
Salvage  Company.  Nevertheless,  he  sat  down  and 
wrote  him  a  letter,  disclosing  his  quandary  and 
asking  for  a  loan.  This  letter,  forwarded  to  Eng- 
land, had  borne  no  fruit,  and  in  due  time  he  went 
into  insolvency,  and  a  receivership  was  appointed 
by  the  court.  Whereupon,  he  gloomily  chucked  the 
entire  affair  out  of  his  mind  and  damned  the  flow- 
ing black  tide. 


CHAPTER  FOURTEEN 

AFTER  a  short  delay,  Sloane  found  positions  for 
himself  and  O'Connor  with  a  practical  wrecking- 
man  and  salvage  master  who  operated  down  in  the 
harbour.  He  found  work  and  thus  some  ready  cash 
not  a  day  too  soon.  For  the  same  evening  he  re- 
ceived from  Celia,  who  had  loitered  another  month 
on  her  homeward  route  visiting  friends,  a  wire  to 
the  effect  that  she  would  arrive  with  her  mother 
in  town  the  following  Sunday  at  noon,  and  sug- 
gested that  he  lunch  with  them  at  some  quiet  place 
downtown. 

What  he  was  to  say  to  Celia  about  his  affairs, 
he  had  not  as  yet  decided;  but  what  he  was  not 
going  to  say  was  extremely  clear  in  his  mind. 
Around  his  transaction  with  her  father  he  drew  a 
circle  which  was  the  dead-line  of  discussion  beyond 
which  he  did  not  intend  to  pass. 

But  Celia  had  no  use  for  dead-lines,  and  from 


174  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

the  first  moment  at  the  station  when  she  clapped 
eyes  on  his  thin  cheeks  and  hollow  eyes,  Pinkney 
was  in  trouble.  She  saw  him  first  inside  the  gate, 
and  waved  her  hand.  After  that  her  eyes  never 
left  his  face  until  she  was  in  his  arms. 

The  first  heart-beating  moments  over,  she  drew 
back,  still  in  the  circle  of  his  embrace,  and  studied 
him  with  wide  intent  eyes. 

"Why,  Pinkney!"  she  breathed  in  soft  con- 
cern. And  after  another  look,  "  Why — Pinkney," 
this  time  with  a  catch  in  her  voice.  "  You've — 
changed !  " 

"What's  wrong?"  he  demanded  with  a  laugh. 
"  Do  you  mean  I'm  not  the  man  you  took  me  for? 
You  want  to  be  let  off  ?  " 

"  What  have  you  done  to  yourself  ?  Have  you 
been  sick  ?  " 

"Oh — that!  Well,  I  caught  cold  and  it  hung 
on.  All  right  now.  I'm  fine  as  silk."  And  he 
gave  a  cough  to  prove  it. 

"  I  don't  like  your  looks  at  all ! "  she  reproved 
him  severely.  Still  within  the  curve  of  his  arm, 
she  turned.  "  Mother !  "  she  said  over  his  shoulder. 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  175 

He  started  and  swung  swiftly  about  "  This  is 
Pinkney." 

"So  this  is— Pinkney!" 

Mrs.  King  extended  both  her  hands  and  Sloane, 
rather  pale,  took  them  in  his  own.  They  looked  at 
each  other,  looked,  smiled,  and  were  friends.  What 
he  saw  was  a  gracious  attractive  woman,  thin,  al- 
most translucent,  with  shadowy  eyes  and  a  tender 
smiling  mouth.  The  mouth  was  Celia's;  so  also 
was  the  vivid  changeability  of  her  face  as  her 
thoughts  raced  inside  of  her.  But  Celia  had  a 
strong  rosy  vitality,  a  supple  strength  comparable  to 
his  own.  Beside  her,  Mrs.  King  was  a  wraith — 
a  beautiful  pale  wraith  with  lovely  twilight  eyes. 
And  now  those  lovely  twilight  eyes  were  laughing. 

"  Do  you  look  at  everybody  like  that  ?  " 

"  I — I  don't  know,"  he  stammered.  "  You're  so 
like  Ce — Miss  King." 

"Mother  knows,"  interrupted  Celia,  laughing. 
"  You  needn't  *  Miss  King '  me  to  her." 

He  continued  to  gaze. 

"  It's  perfectly  extraordinary,  the  likeness.  And 
yet  you're  as  different  as  day  from  night." 


176  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

"  I'll  tell  you  the  difference,"  said  Celia  gayly, 
slipping  her  free  hand  under  her  mother's  arm. 
"  I'm  just  plain  flesh  and  blood,  with  all  the  good- 
ness, and  all  the  meanness,  of  my  ancestors  fighting 
for  the  upper  hand  in  me.  I'm  jealous,  strong- 
willed,  perverse,  and  I'll  trample  on  other  people 
who  stand  in  my  way." 

"  You  silly  child !  "  murmured  Lucinda.  "  Don't 
believe  her — Pinkney." 

"  But  mother,"  continued  the  girl,  unheeding,  "  is 
not  flesh  and  blood  at  all.  She's  love  made  mani- 
fest and  dwelling  among  us  for  our  good.  So  she 
sees  in  us  only  the  beauty  that's  in  her." 

"Don't  be  too  sure  of  that,"  laughed  Lucinda. 
"  Come  on,  children,  to  lunch." 

It  was  not  until  they  were  ensconced  in  the 
limousine  with  its  delicate  feminine  appointments, 
and  he  was  seated  between  the  two  women,  Celia 
nestled  up  so  close  to  him  that  the  grey  fur  of  her 
collar  tickled  his  ear,  Mrs.  King  leaning  back  in 
her  corner  scrutinising  him  with  her  grave  dark 
eyes,  that  he  spoke  the  sober  thought  of  his  mind. 

"  This,"  said  he,  "  is  so  unreal  that  I  can't  get 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  177 

hold  of  it.  I'm  afraid  if  I  shut  my  eyes  and  open 
them  again,  you  won't  be  here." 

'  Try  it !  "  exclaimed  Celia.  "  Mother,  shut  yours 
too.  I  want  to  come  real  to  Pinkney." 

Obediently,  Lucinda  closed  her  eyes  and  turned 
her  face  away.  A  single  crystal  tear  gathered  in 
the  web  of  her  eyelash.  Surreptitiously  she  wiped 
it  away. 

"  Yes,  this  is  realer,"  she  heard  him  murmur, 
after  a  longish  pause.  "  But  even  at  that,  it's  more 
like  Paris  than  here." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  Celia  cried,  springing 
away.  "  I  didn't  know  you  in  Paris.  Do  you  mean 
that " 

"  No,  no,"  he  chuckled.  "  Certainly  not.  How 
could  you  think  of  such  a  thing!  But  don't  you 
remember  the  taxis  at  twilight — kissing  time — and 
how  they  used  to  speed  up  and  down  the  Champs 
Elysees  like  mad,  and  always  the  same  thing  going 
on  inside — a  man  and  a  girl  and  the  girl  on  the 

man's  knee,  and  always Well,  one  night  I 

counted  twenty-five.  It  was  enough  to  make  a  man 
lonesome ! " 


i;8  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

"Pinkney!" 

His  chuckle  deepened  into  a  laugh. 

"  Now  you're  coming  real  at  the  rate  of  a  mile 
a  minute.  But  I  didn't  know  you  were  that  kind 
of  a  girl." 

"What  kind?" 

"  The  kind  to  whom  you  can't  mention  the  his- 
torical fact  that  Cleopatra  was  not  an  affliction  to 
the  eyes.  Are  you?" 

"  I — I  don't  know.  So  long  as  you  keep  them 
historical " 

They  laughed. 

"  By  Jove,"  he  exclaimed  suddenly,  "  I  forgot. 
I've  a  grievance  against  you.  What  about  your 
alleged  engagement  to  that  elderly  spinster,  Pym?" 

"  Nothing." 

"  That's  just  about  what  I  thought,"  he  muttered. 

"  May  I  open  my  eyes  ?  "  asked  Lucinda. 

It  was  in  the  middle  of  a  rather  gay  luncheon, 
served  at  Lucinda's  command,  in  the  quiet  corner 
of  an  excellent  little  restaurant  in  a  side  street,  that 
Celia  exclaimed  suddenly: 

"  But,  Pinkney,  you've  not  mentioned  a  single 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  179 

word  about  the  great  and  only  Sloane  Salvage  Com- 
pany, Inc.  Mother,  do  you  know  that  he  has  a 
perfectly  wonderful  inventor's  brain " 

"  St !  Can  that !  "  He  raised  a  threatening  index 
finger.  "  If  you  start  that,  I'll  start  something 
that'll  make  you  blush  for  a  week.  Now  come  on! 
Once  as  I  was  walking  down  the  rue  Royale " 

"  Oh,  all  right ! "  She  looked  at  him,  blushing 
divinely,  as  she  hauled  down  her  flag.  "  Though 
I'm  sure  nobody  cares  for  your  old  rue  Royale. 
Tell  us  about  your  agreement  with  father." 

"  That's  rather  a  large  order." 

"Is  it  settled?" 

"Just  about." 

"Satisfactorily?" 

"To  whom?"  he  countered. 

"To— us!     To  Sloane  Salvage  Co.  and  Co." 

He  turned  to  Mrs.  King. 

"  Do  you  know  anything  about  my  business  with 
Mr.  King?"  His  voice  was  easy,  but  there  was  a 
hard  light  in  his  eye. 

"  Not  the  details,"  she  murmured,  looking  rather 
carefully  at  her  plate.  "  Of  course,  Celia  has  chat- 


i8o  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

tered.  My  husband  said  something  about  you  one 
night — but  that  was  at  the  beginning.  No,  I  don't 
know  what  it's  all  about.  But — I  occasionally  read 
the  newspapers." 

His  heart  gave  a  great  leap,  like  a  hooked  trout, 
and  then  seemed  to  rush  suffocatingly  into  his 
throat.  She  had  read,  then,  about  the  bankruptcy 
proceedings !  He  sat  silent,  staring  at  her  with  eyes 
so  full  of  misery  that  she  reached  out,  laid  a  cover- 
ing hand  on  his  clenched  fist,  and  chafed  it  gently 
as  she  continued,  "  I'm  not  much  of  a  business 
woman.  You'll  have  to  tell  me  about  your  won- 
derful invention  some  day!" 

"  I'll  send  you  a  prospectus,"  he  muttered,  achiev- 
ing a  ragged  smile.  He  continued  to  look  at  her, 
intensely  grateful  for  her  discretion.  She  knew! 
At  least,  she  knew  something.  And  she  had  not 
told  Celia! 

"  My  husband,"  she  continued,  with  a  soft  gravity 
that  he  found  adorable,  "  is  ill.  Just  how  ill  he  is, 
no  one  realises — least  of  all  himself.  So  you  can 
imagine,"  she  looked  deeply  into  his  eyes,  "  that  I 
do  not  harass  him  with  questions.  That  letter  to 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  181 

him  from  silly  Miss  Tauser  upset  him  quite  dread- 
fully. He  thought  you  were  intriguing  behind  his 
back." 

He  drew  a  deep  breath.  , 

"  But  I  don't  see "  he  began. 

"  Neither  do  I,"  she  cut  in  swiftly.  "  I  only  say 
that  it  complicated  things." 

"  What  things  ? "  demanded  Celia,  glancing 
alertly  from  one  to  the  other.  "You  two  sound 
mysterious." 

"  Well,  your  vacation,  for  one  thing,"  evaded 
Lucinda,  smiling.  "  For  your  father  wirelessed  me 
to  go  out  directly  and  bring  you  home — or  he  would 
go  himself." 

"  Mother  did  give  me  a  fright ! "  laughed  the 
girl.  "  She  swooped  down  on  me  after  you  left, 
and  the  first  thing  she  did  was  to  fade  little  Tauser 
right  out  of  the  landscape.  I  never  saw  moms 
really  furious  before." 

"  I  knew  she  was  silly,"  murmured  Lucinda,  "  but 
I  didn't  know  before  that  she  had  a  vicious 
mind."  She  sat  thinking  deeply,  her  eyes  staring 
off,  her  chin  in  her  hand. 


i82  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

"  You  children,"  she  said  finally,  "  will  have  to 
promise  me  one  thing." 

"I  will,"  said  Sloane. 

"I  won't!"  cried  Celia,  with  a  rebellious  lift  of 
her  chin.  "  Now,  mother — you  have  to  be  on  our 
side!" 

"  Of  course  I  am,  silly.  But  just  at  present " 

She  stopped  to  pat  her  daughter's  cheek.  "At 
present,  I'm  going  to  ask  you  and  Pinkney  not  to 
see  each  other  until — well,  until  I  give  the  word. 
Your  father  is  ill,  and  I  won't  bother  him  with 
trifles " 

"  Do  you  call  us  trifles  ?  "  exclaimed  the  girl  in- 
dignantly. 

"  I  call  anything  trifles  in  comparison  with  your 
father's  health." 

Celia's  mouth  was  mutinous.  Her  eyes,  very 
wide  and  blue,  telegraphed  to  Pinkney: 

"You  hear?  What  did  I  tell  you  up  on  the 
ranch?  He's  hateful  and  obstinate.  And  yet,  she 
adores  him.  She'd  sacrifice  us  like  a  flash.  But 
you  just  can't  help  loving  her,  can  you?" 

And  he  flashed  back  the  response: 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  183 

"All  right  I  get  you.  But  you  are  mine  and 
I  am  yours,  and  nobody  can  alter  that.  Yes — she's 
adorable." 

Celia  nodded,  her  eyes  diamond-bright. 

Lucinda,  glancing  up,  caught  the  silent  colloquy, 
and  laughed. 

"  You  babes  in  the  wood !  "  she  breathed.  "  Do 
you  promise  then  not  to  see  each  other  until  I  can 

work  something  out?  I "  She  faltered,  and 

for  the  first  time,  a  trouble,  or  a  doubt,  or  an  an- 
guish showed  itself  in  the  twilight  gravity  of  her 

eyes.  "  I  want  to  help  you "  she  murmured  to 

Sloane. 

"  Don't  bother  about  that,"  he  muttered  huskily, 
squeezing  her  hand.  "  There's  no  use  cry  -baby- 
ing over  spilt  milk.  Much  obliged,  just  the 
same." 

They  rose  from  the  table  and  Lucinda  said: 

"  I'm  going  to  drop  you  two  chicks  in  the  park 
for  a  stroll.  I'll  meet  you  in  the  Egyptian  Room 
at  the  Museum  in  an  hour." 

In  the  park,  they  rambled  for  a  time  in  silence. 
Jhe  trees  were  bare  and  leafless,  and  a  thin  crust 


184  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

of  snow  covered  the  grass.  The  air  was  clear  and 
fine.  Occasionally  he  stole  a  quick  sidelong  glance 
at  the  girl  by  his  side.  She  walked  gracefully,  with 
a  swimming,  undulating  movement,  as  if  she  were 
breasting  an  invisible  flood.  Her  cheeks  were  a 
splendid  rose.  Walking  beside  her,  so  thrillingly 
alive,  so  mysterious  and  dear,  Sloane  had  a  sudden 
sense  of  ecstasy,  of  conscious  communion  with  the 
spirit  of  life,  such  as  he  sometimes  experienced  when 
he  swam  far  out  to  sea  and  then  floated,  eyes  closed, 
upon  the  buoyant  breast  of  the  deep. 

The  corrals  of  the  spotted  deer  appeared  around 
the  curve  of  the  path.  Suddenly  he  laughed  out. 

"  Well  ?  "  she  queried,  smiling  deeply  too. 

"  Come  on.  Let's  go  and  ask  the  keeper  about 
the  new  baby  peccadillo.  They  say  he's  a  cute  little 
beggar." 

"  Baby  peccadillo  ?  "  she  murmured.  "  I  never 
heard  of  one  before.'* 

"  Well,  I've  never  seen  a  live  one,"  he  admitted. 
"  But  I've  often  heard  of  them.  My  idea — subject 
to  correction — is  that  it's  something  on  the  order 
of  a  baby  kangaroo." 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  185 

"You're  sure  you  don't  mean  peccary?"  she 
mused,  with  puckered  brow. 

"  Lord,  girl !  A  peccary's  a  pig.  Come  on. 
We're  losing  time.  You  ask  the  keeper." 

Celia  paused,  screwing  up  her  pretty  brows. 

"  Peccadillo — pecc — pec Why,"  she  sud- 
denly burst  out,  "  that's  not  an  animal  at  all !  It's 
nothing  but  a  fault — a  little  fault !  "  She  looked 
at  him  reproachfully,  blushing  like  a  rose.  "  How 
absurd  you  are ! "  she  breathed  in  a  low  voice. 

Sloane  took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her. 

"  Well,"  he  laughed,  "  it  ought  to  be  an  animal 
if  it's  not.  That  word  has  missed  its  vocation. 
Baby  peccadillo — can't  you  fairly  hear  him  chew  ?  " 

They  found  a  secluded  spot  and  sat  down  in  view 
of  the  lake.  Sloane,  who  sensed  impending  danger, 
was  all  for  carrying  the  conversation  back  to  the 
ranch.  But  Celia  asked  no  difficult  questions.  She 
sat  very  still  cupping  her  chin  in  her  hand,  while 
he  rambled  on  or  sat  silent,  wrapped  in  the  warm 
contentment  of  her  presence. 

Presently,  as  if  the  time  were  ripe,  she  bent  for- 
ward, and  breathed  rather  than  spoke: 


1 86  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

"What  is  it— love?" 

Under  the  freighted  tenderness  of  that  word,  he 
felt  the  very  moorings  of  his  soul  tremble  and  give 
way.  But  he  did  not  yield.  And  Celia,  when  she 
caught  the  pinched  bleakness  of  his  averted  face, 
did  not  press  him. 

That  night  in  his  room,  reflecting  upon  the  tre- 
mendous tractile  power  which  Celia  had  suddenly 
exerted  with  that  single  small  word,  Sloane  decided 
sagely  that  love  rendered  women  strong  and  men 
weak.  He  decided,  moreover,  that  now  he  knew 
what  Delilah  had  said  to  Samson  when  she  wished 
to  discover  the  secret  of  his  strength.  She  had  bent 
above  him,  with  a  mouth  like  Celia's,  and  breathed 
in  thrilling  tones:  "What  is  it — love?"  And 
Samson,  overborne  by  the  linked  sweetness  of  her 
tones,  had  replied: 

"Enchantress  of  my  heart! 
It  is — my  hair !  " 

Whereupon,  the  enchantress  of  his  heart  had 
watched  her  chance  and  scalped  him  as  he  lay 
dreaming  of  her  charms.  So  deep  an  impression 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  187 

did  Celia's  voice  make  upon  him,  that  all  during 
the  next  week  at  intervals  in  his  work  out  in  the 
harbour,  he  burst  into  sudden  song,  bellowing  in  a 
melancholy  baritone: 

"  Enchantress  of  my  heart! 
It  is — my  hair !  " 

And  occasionally,  being  absorbed  or  distraught, 
he  would  unconsciously  alter  a  word  and  troll  out: 

"  Enchantress  of  my  heart ! 
It  is — thy  hair!" 

Which,  as  O'Connor  remarked,  made  some  sense 
to  the  blasted  thing. 


CHAPTER  FIFTEEN 

UPON  reflection,  Mrs.  King  mitigated  somewhat 
the  severity  of  her  sentence  and  permitted  Celia 
and  Sloane  to  see  each  other  occasionally.  But 
their  meetings  were  brief  and  unsatisfactory.  Celia, 
who  still  remained  at  home,  not  having  fulfilled  her 
threat  of  a  downtown  apartment,  had  resumed  her 
work  at  the  hospital,  and  had  her  two  hours  off 
daily.  But  Sloane,  down  upon  the  waterfront,  or 
out  in  the  icy  winds  of  the  harbour,  could  not  pos- 
sibly get  off  in  the  daytime.  To  Celia  he  had  ex- 
plained that  he  was  conducting  some  practical  ex- 
periments in  connection  with  a  heavier  deep-sea 
diving-suit  he  was  working  upon.  And  that  state- 
ment was  strictly  true,  as  far  as  it  went;  but 
he  saw  plainly  that  it  did  not  go  very  far  with 
Celia. 

The  work  itself  made  exorbitant  demands  on  his 
vitality,  but  it  kept  him  absorbed.  At  night,  after 

188 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  189 

he  had  scrubbed  himself  and  dined,  he  fell  asleep 
at  table  with  the  newspaper  in  his  hand. 

In  his  brief  interviews  with  Celia,  held  in  the 
bare  little  reception  room  at  the  hospital,  smelling 
of  disinfectants,  he  could  not  disguise  from  himself 
that  she  was  constrained  and  cold.  But  she  asked 
him  no  more  questions,  and  he  could  not  determine 
whether  her  reticence  tortured  or  relieved  him 
most. 

After  one  of  these  bleak  interviews,  Sloane,  des- 
perate, and  feeling  as  lonely  as  a  lost  soul,  betook 
himself  to  Gilmore's  office  to  inquire  after  Chap- 
man. He  had  decided  he  would  consent  to  any  kind 
of  an  arrangement,  even  to  Chapman's  taking  over 
the  whole  concern,  if  by  so  doing  he  could  wipe 
out  his  indebtedness  to  his  men  and  refund  the 
value  of  their  stock.  But  Chapman  had  not  re- 
turned. And  if  he  had  received  Sloane's  letter,  he 
gave  no  sign. 

The  case  of  the  Sloane  Salvage  Company  took 
its  slow  routine  course  through  the  courts  and 
judgments  were  rendered  against  Pinkney,  who  one 
morning  awakened  to  find  himself  bankrupt,  with 


190  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

a  date  set  for  a  public  auction  sale  of  the  company's 
property,  patents,  stocks,  machinery,  and  pontoons. 
He  fervently  hoped  that,  at  least,  he  would  not 
figure  a  second  time  in  the  headlines  of  the  papers. 
And  this  extra  humiliation  he  was  spared.  Busi- 
ness crashes  that  particular  week  were  numerous, 
and  the  item  heralding  his  failure  was  relegated  to 
an  obscure  corner  of  the  last  column  of  the  finan- 
cial page.  The  date  of  the  auction  was  set  twelve 
days  distant. 

During  that  final  week  he  did  not  dare  go  near 
Celia,  lest  some  intimation  of  the  approaching 
disaster  should  inadvertently  fall  from  his  tongue 
or  look  forth  from  his  eyes.  After  he  had  attended 
the  final  obsequies  of  the  company,  he  supposed  the 
time  would  arrive  when  he  would  be  obliged  to 
confess — something.  How  little  should  be  told  her, 
or  how  much,  he  did  not  at  present  know — and  did 
not  greatly  care. 

Upon  one  thing,  however,  he  was  gloomily  re- 
solved: to  release  Celia  from  her  engagement  with 
him.  For  Pinkney  Sloane,  president  of  the  Sloane 
Salvage  Company,  with  the  nest-egg  of  a  fine  for- 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

tune  in  his  possession,  had  vanished  off  the  boards. 
And  Pinkney  Sloane,  unshaven  young  rough-neck, 
day-labourer  in  oilskins,  in  charge  of  a  salvage  crew 
in  the  icy  slush  of  the  harbour,  who  had  taken  his 
place,  was  not  a  fit  mate  for  the  daughter  of  Klag- 
gett  King.  After  a  sombre  survey  of  the  subject 
from  all  aspects  and  angles  he  decided  that  the  best 
thing  to  do,  after  fate  in  the  shape  of  the  auc- 
tioneer's hammer  had  knocked  his  hopes  on  the 
head,  was  to  leak  noiselessly  out  of  the  landscape. 

Luckily,  he  had  few  spare  hours  to  brood.  Life 
that  week  on  the  New  York  waterfront  was  a  lively 
affair.  It  kept  the  young  bankrupt  absorbed  from 
morning  until  night.  Barges  and  ferry-boats  and 
tugs  and  little  harbour-craft  collided,  sprang  aleak, 
or  stranded,  or  blew  up  their  boilers;  and  Sloane 
and  his  salvage  crew  were  in  heavy  demand  on  all 
sides  at  once,  sweating  in  their  oilskins,  despite  the 
icy  blasts,  as  they  toiled  to  release  a  stranded  vessel, 
or  reduce  to  a  minimum  the  jettisoning  of  a  valu- 
able cargo. 

One  night,  as  he  sat  dog-tired  on  the  edge  of  his 
bed,  Annie  knocked  to  announce  the  presence  of  a 


192  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

lady  downstairs.  And  before  he  had  more  than 
time  to  rise,  the  lady  herself  was  at  the  door.  It 
was  Mrs.  King,  more  pale  and  shadowy  than  ever. 

"  Mr.  Sloane,"  she  began  at  once,  and  her  voice 
sounded  old  and  worn,  "  I  am  in  trouble  and  I  have 
come  to  you  for  help.  Have  you  seen  Celia?  " 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  Not  for  days,"  he  replied  sombrely.  "  This 
work  ties  me  up  hand  and  foot.  And  at  night  I'm 
dead  with  fatigue.  But  I'm  going  to  see  her  soon. 
Going  to  have  a  long  talk.  .  .  .  Settle  every- 
thing. .  .  ." 

She  listened  with  a  strange,  bleak,  brooding  air 
that  dismayed  him  to  the  heart. 

"  I  want  you  to  come  with  me  to  see  her.  To- 
night. Now.  She's  left  home." 

He  could  only  gape  in  mute  consternation. 

"  Where  has  she  gone  ?  "  he  demanded  at  last, 
stupidly. 

"  To  the  hospital.  She  telephoned  me  just  be- 
fore I  left." 

"  But  why  did  she "  He  broke  off  abruptly, 

with  a  shrewd  suspicion  of  what  had  occurred. 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  193 

"  She  read  in  the  paper  the  notice  of  the  sale  at 
public  auction  of  the  property  of  your  company," 
replied  Mrs.  King.  Her  absolute  quietude  was  like 
the  intense  calm  at  the  heart  of  a  storm.  "  After- 
ward, she  showed  it  to  me  and  accused  me  of 

well,  all  sorts  of  wild,  bitter  untrue  things.  But 
until  I  read  that  notice  I  never  even  dreamed  that 
things  had  gone  so  badly  with  you.  I  knew,  of 
course,  there  was  some  difficulty,  but  when  I  spoke 

to   Klaggett,   he   said — he   said "      Her  voice 

broke  and  she  could  not  go  on. 

"  Never  mind,"  he  soothed  her  gently.  "  He 
probably  said  there  was  a  temporary  snag,  but  that 
things  would  right  themselves  soon." 

She  threw  him  a  grateful  glance. 

;<  That's  precisely  what  he  did  say !  " 

"Well,  it's  true,"  he  observed  with  grim  hu- 
mour. "And  it  covers  just  about  every  situation 
in  life." 

"  I  hated  to  trouble  him,"  she  continued,  still  with 
that  same  soft  steadiness  of  voice  as  if  bracing 
herself  to  some  stern  inner  ordeal,  "  for  he  is  ill — 
nobody  but  myself  knows  how  ill  he  really  is.  And 


I94  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

when  he  gets  those  nervous  spells  and  cannot  sleep, 
he  goes  frantic.  He  fights  .  .  .  and  fights  .  .  . 
and  fights  .  .  .  everybody,  everything.  He  can- 
not endure  to  be  thwarted.  You  understand,  he 
has  always  had  an  iron  will;  he  has  never  wanted 
friends — only  subjects.  He  can't  bear — he  never 
could — to  have  any  one  cross  his  will.  .  .  .  It's 
partly  on  account  of  a  recurrent  dream  he  has,  in 
which  he  believes  implicitly.  .  .  .  He  says  that  he 
doesn't — he  pretends  to  mock  at  it — but  in  reality 
it  governs  all  his  thoughts,  his  deeds.  He  must 
conquer — that  is  his  idea.  You  see,  he  has  a  dream 
adversary,  whom  he  has  never  been  able  to  conquer, 
whom  he  has  never  been  able  even  to  see.  Don't 
ask  me,"  she  continued  rather  wildly,  "  who  that 
dream  adversary  is!  I  tell  you  he  has  never  seen 
his  face.  But  he  is  determined  to  get  him.  And 
to  get  him,  he  must  first  have  the  dream.  .  .  .  And 
to  dream,  he  must  have  success.  .  .  .  And  that  suc- 
cess means  the  ruin  of  some  of  his  business  oppo- 
nents— in  this  case  it  was  you!  You  see,  how  it 
is  horrible  .  .  .  grotesque  .  .  .  unbelievable,  even! 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  195 

...  A  phantom-chase — after  what?  And  with  the 
recent  months  it  has  become  a  kind  of  malady,  an 
obscure  sickness  of  the  soul.  ...  I  am  the  only 
one  he  does  not  fight,  and  he  trusts  me  not  to 
trouble  him — to  give  him  rest."  At  this  'point,  she 
broke  down  altogether  and  the  tears  brimmed  and 
fell. 

"  That  is  why  I  have  not  bothered  him  about  you 
and  Celia,  for  I  thought  it  was  more  important  that 
he  should  weather  this  crisis  than  to  anger — to 
antagonise,  to  thwart  him  at  this  stage.  .  .  .  Oh, 
you  must  forgive  me  if  I  have  made  a  mistake! 
It  is  not  that  he  hates  you,  personally.  It  is  only 
that  it  maddens  him  to  be  opposed.  He  must  have 
his  own  will." 

"  I  believe  that,"  said  Sloane  dryly.  "  Klaggett 
King  is  not  the  only  one  who  likes  to  have  his  own 
will.  It's  a  pretty  universal  failing.  But  when  he 
lets  that  desire  get  the  upper  hand  of  him;  when 
he  makes  a  secret  partner  out  of  it  and  tries  to 

break  everybody  who  won't  bow  down  to  him " 

He  paused  and  finished  with  harsh  abruptness, 


196  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

"  Well,  he  can  have  his  dream.  For  he's  broken 
me.  I'm  done  for.  Let's  leave  that.  What  about 
Celia?  I  suppose  she  opposed  him  too?" 

She  nodded.  "  It  was  a  dreadful  scene.  You 
know  how  Celia  is.  Where  she  loves,  you  can  twine 
her  round  your  finger  like  a  silk  ribbon.  But  Klag- 
gett  freezes  her  into  stone  with  one  harsh  word. 
She  accused  him  of  trying  to  ruin  you  in  order  to 
marry  her  to  Mr.  Pym.  They  both  said  wild,  ter- 
rible, flaying  things.  And  finally,  just  as  she  was, 
without  a  hat,  she  ran  out  weeping  into  the  night." 

"  When  was  that  ?  "  he  demanded  briefly,  reach- 
ing for  his  hat. 

"  About  an  hour  ago.  But  she  telephoned  me 
she  was  safe — and  stopping  the  night  at  the  hospi- 
tal. She  said  that  day  after  to-morrow  she  has  to 
appear  in  the  police-court." 

"Wha-at?"  he  gasped,  astounded. 

"  She  drove  her  own  car  downtown,  and — well, 
you  see,  she  was  still  terribly  angry,  and  so  I  sup- 
pose she  drove  faster  than  she  was  aware,  and  a 
traffic  officer  gave  her  a  summons." 

She  smiled  at  him,  a  faint,  humorous,  compre- 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  197 

bending  smile,  and  immediately  fell  grave  again. 

"  I  want  Celia  to  come  home.  I  have  promised 
her  father  that.  If  Celia  won't  listen  to  me,  you 
must  persuade  her." 

"  I'll  do  my  best,"  he  promised  shortly. 

They  descended  to  the  waiting  automobile,  and 
after  she  had  given  the  hospital  number  to  the 
chauffeur  and  they  had  seated  themselves  inside, 
she  went  on,  still  with  that  same  soft  steadiness  of 
purpose  which  distressed  him  to  the  heart. 

"  There's  one  thing  more.  When  the  effects  of 
your  company  come  up  for  sale,  Celia  swears  she's 
going  to  bid  against  her  father  and  buy  them  in." 

His  hearty  laughter  floated  out  into  the  night. 

"  Some  live  kid !  "  murmured  he. 

"  But  she  mustn't.  I  forbid  it.  And  I  want  you 

to  promise  me  to  buy  them  in  yourself.  I " 

she  spoke  hurriedly,  "  I  will  provide  the  funds." 

"No!" 

"  Please "  she  began  desperately.  "  Are  you 

going  to  turn  perverse  on  my  hands  too?"  After 
that  she  gave  way  and  sobbed  softly  behind  her 
veil. 


198  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

He  comforted  her  as  best  he  might. 

"  See  here,"  he  said  at  last.  "  That  sale  isn't  due 
for  four  days.  To-night  our  business  is  to  find 
Celia.  After  that — well,  we'll  plot  out  something." 
And  with  this  evasion  she  had  to  be  content. 

They  found  Celia  at  the  hospital,  locked  in  her 
room.  Sloane  sent  up  three  notes  in  succession, 
each  stiff er  than  the  last,  before  she  consented  to 
descend  to  the  reception-room  where  he  awaited  her. 
Finally  she  came,  pale,  hard,  wearing  her  dark 
Maid  of  Verdun  expression.  At  the  door  she 
stopped  and  looked  at  him,  so  beautiful,  so  fierce 
and  haggard,  that  despite  himself  Sloane  laughed. 

"  Where  is  your  sword  ?  "  said  he. 

At  that,  she  turned  sharply  away,  and  then,  with 
a  dry  sob,  ran  forward  suddenly,  and  flung  herself 
upon  his  breast. 

"How  could  you?  Oh,  how  could  you?"  she 
wept. 

"How  could  I  what,  my  darling?"  he  whis- 
pered, holding  her  close. 

"Keep  it  all  a  secret  from  me!" 

"  How  could  I  not?  "  he  asked,  simply.    He  drew 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  199 

a  deep  breath  and  stooped  his  head  to  hers.    Their 
lips  met. 

Inside  of  ten  minutes  he  had  her  promise  to  re- 
turn home  for  the  present  and  had  put  her  inside 
the  car  with  her  mother.  She  leaned  out,  tremu- 
lous and  dewy-eyed  to  wave  him  a  last  good-night. 
He  watched  them  roll  away  and  then  walked  back 
to  his  room  through  the  starlight,  happier  than  he 
had  been  since  he  left  Hunter's  Ranch. 


CHAPTER  SIXTEEN 

THAT  night  Lucinda  did  not  attempt  to  sleep. 

Her  mind,  finely  attuned  to  the  changing  moods 
of  Klaggett  King,  seemed  preternaturally  alive  and 
alert.  Somewhere,  back  in  the  dim  hinterland  of 
her  consciousness,  was  sounding  a  note  of  danger, 
like  the  muffled,  melancholy  note  of  the  buoy-bell 
on  a  dark  sea. 

She  slipped  into  a  soft  grey  robe,  and  prepared 
to  make  a  night  of  it.  Several  times,  during  the 
hours  around  midnight,  she  tip-toed,  velvet-footed, 
to  King's  bedroom  to  listen  at  the  door.  He  ob- 
jected strongly  to  any  kind  of  surveillance,  and  so 
she  could  only  watch  and  listen  from  afar. 

Celia  she  had  tucked  into  bed  with  many  soft 
dewy  hugs,  and  a  promise  reluctantly  wrung  from 
the  girl  to  look  in  upon  her  father  in  the  morning 
and  to  present  him  with  a  penitent  kiss.  It  was  an 
outward  token  of  submission,  and  beyond  that,  at 

200 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  201 

the  moment,  Lucinda  did  not  trouble  her  head.  She 
had  deeper  things  upon  her  mind. 

She  paced  broodingly  up  and  down  the  room, 
picking  up  first  one  object  and  then  another  with 
unseeing  eyes.  A  bottle  of  milk  and  an  opiate  and 
a  hypodermic  case  stood  upon  her  night  table. 

Finally  she  switched  off  the  lights  and  threw  her- 
self down  on  the  chaise  longue.  Whether  she  dozed 
off,  she  never  afterward  knew.  It  seemed  to  her 
she  was  only  thinking  more  deeply,  more  intensely 
of  Klaggett  King,  when  she  was  roused  by  the 
deafening  crash  of  a  pistol-shot,  followed,  an  in- 
stant later,  by  a  wild  choking  cry. 

With  terror  hammering  at  her  heart,  she  flew 
down  the  corridor,  flung  open  his  door,  and 
switched  on  the  electricity.  Even  before  she 
reached  him,  she  knew  it  was  the  dream. 

"  It's  the  dream,"  she  said  to  herself  reassuringly, 
and  she  felt  relieved,  for  the  dream  was  an  old 
friend. 

The  sudden  flood  of  mellow  light  revealed  Klag- 
gett King  standing  in  the  centre  of  the  floor,  glar- 
ing austerely  before  him,  the  revolver  still  gripped 


202  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

in  his  hand.  Little  wreaths  of  acrid  smoke  still 
curled  from  its  steel  blue  muzzle. 

He  stood,  solid  as  a  rock,  legs  braced  wide  apart, 
head  down,  his  heavy  penthouse  brows  blackly  bent, 
his  jaw  thrust  out  aggressively,  as  if  about  to 
charge.  His  big  gaunt  face  with  its  strong  shadows, 
all  blacks  and  whites,  was  deathly  pale,  and  his  lips 
were  twisted  off  into  a  smile,  dreadful  to  behold, 
half  of  triumph,  half  of  anguish.  A  damp  sweat 
beaded  his  temples. 

He  kept  on  looking  past  her,  smiling  that  faint, 
harsh,  bitter  smile — brooding,  sombre,  remote. 
That  dark  austere  look  of  triumph,  mingled  with 
malice,  mingled  also  with — was  it  wonder,  or  wist- 
fulness? — froze  her  very  heart.  But  her  sharp  eye 
noted  not  a  sign  of  a  wound  upon  him. 

At  her  cry  of  "  Klaggett ! "  slowly,  without 
moving  his  head  or  his  body  which  seemed  fixed 
like  a  post  in  its  place,  he  slewed  round  his  deep 
inscrutable  eyes  upon  her. 

"  I  got  him.  Killed  him  deader  than  Cock 
Robin."  His  tones  were  casual,  almost  indifferent. 
"  I  always  knew  I  should.  But  this  time  I  laid  for 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  203 

him  with  a  gun.  You  understand,  Lucinda,  I 
realised  the  danger  to  myself  in  stalking  that  fellow 
with  a  gun.  For  I  had  an  idea  about  his  identity. 
Oh,  I  wasn't  sure!  ...  It  was  always  dark  and  I 

could  not  see  his  face.     But  I  suspected " 

He  staggered  suddenly. 

Lucinda  sprang  to  him  and  placed  a  supporting 
arm  about  him. 

"Darling!"  she  cried,  with  a  sob  in  her  voice. 
"  Come  to  bed.  You — you  frightened  me  horribly. 
You  mustn't  go  shooting  up  the  house  like  that — 
even  in  a  dream !  " 

She  strove  to  laugh,  but  her  voice  shook  with  a 
horror  she  could  not  master. 

"Stop  staring  away  like  that!  .  .  .  Klaggett! 
.  .  .  My  love — look  at  me !  " 

He  seemed  not  to  have  heard.  His  dark  eyes 
burned  austerely  before  him,  as  if  fixed  on  some 
inner  scene.  His  voice,  when  finally  he  spoke 
again,  came  as  if  from  a  distance,  in  a  faint 
whisper,  like  a  light  breath,  an  exhalation,  a  sigh. 
"  It  was  night  ...  on  the  beach  ...  in  the 
sand  dunes,  as  before.  ...  I  can  still  hear  the 


204  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

pounding  of  the  surf.  ...  It  is  roaring  now  in  my 
ears.  ...  I  came  upon  him  suddenly.  .  .  .  And 
as  I  shot,  he  turned  his  head  and  slowly  looked  at 
me.  .  .  .  Lucinda!  That  fellow  I've  fought  all 
these  years  .  .  .  and  killed  to-night  in  my  dream 
.  .  .  had  my  own  face  on  him! " 

"But  that's  not  strange,  beloved.  That's  what 
often  happens  in  dreams.  We're  always  changing 
into  somebody  else.  That's  what  makes  them  so 
absurd.  Come  to  bed." 

His  breath  still  came  in  spasmodic  jerks,  but  his 
eyes  shining  out  of  their  cavernous  hollows,  were 
calm. 

"  He  had  my  own  face  on  him !  And  my  God, 
but  he  looked  sad ! " 

"  Come  to  bed,  darling." 

She  reached  up  to  touch  his  cheek  coaxingly  with 
her  fingers,  and  at  the  same  moment  Klaggett  King 
gave  a  lurch,  as  if  pushed  forward  by  an  invisible 
hand  from  the  rear.  His  knees  buckled.  And  still 
staring  austerely  ahead,  half  in  sombre  triumph, 
half  in  wistful  wonder,  he  collapsed  in  Lucinda' s 
arms,  and  from  his  lips  issued  a  crimson  stream, 


THE  SECRET  PARTNER  205 

drenching  her  robe  with  bright  arterial  life-blood. 

The  papers,  respectfully  recording  his  death, 
noted  the  fact  that  Klaggett  King  had  been  in  fail- 
ing health  for  some  time.  A  special  interview  with 
his  partner,  Mr.  Pym,  confirmed  the  same.  Sloane, 
who  heard  of  the  affair  from  Celia  the  next  day, 
was  deeply  shocked.  For  there  was  something  he 
liked  about  KJaggett  King. 

Before  the  properties  of  the  Sloane  Salvage  Com- 
pany went  under  the  hammer,  Chapman  arrived 
from  London,  called  Sloane  on  the  telephone  at 
eleven  o'clock  one  night,  and  as  the  result  of  a  con- 
ference which  took  place  the  following  day,  the 
company  was  consolidated  with  the  firm  of  Gil- 
more  and  Chapman,  and  Sloane  came  into  posses- 
sion, not  of  a  fortune,  but  of  a  chance  to  make 
good. 

After  he  married  Celia,  at  her  particular  request 
he  transformed  King's  yacht,  The  Saturn,  into  a 
salvage-craft,  and  Celia  re-christened  it  The  Isabel. 

He  has  not  raised  the  Lusitania — but  he  is  figur- 
ing on  her,  along  with  a  dozen  other  firms.  She 


206  THE  SECRET  PARTNER 

lies — if  you  want  to  know — on  her  starboard  side 
at  a  depth  of  two  hundred  and  eighty-seven  feet. 
Sloane  intends  to  cradle  her  with  five  hundred  lift- 
ing-chains, attach  one  thousand  balloons,  pump 
them  full  of  air — after  which,  he  declares,  there  is 
no  power  on  earth  can  keep  the  giant  Cunarder 
down. 

All  of  which  Celia,  her  eyes  blue  as  hyacinths, 
will  explain  to  you  proudly  at  tea.  But  if  Sloane 
is  there,  he  will  hiss  in  a  warning  undertone : 

"  Sst !  As  I  was  walking  down  the  rue  Royale 

"  and  Celia  shuts  up  like  a  well-trained  little 

clam. 


•jC  SCJT"ER'J  =£G  OHM.  LBBjm  "."  -.;.;.. 


A     000125750     0 


